The Road Ahead
by Polly
Summary: Now split three ways, Jason's life has never been more complicated and pressured. But when the shadow of danger lurks in the distance, where will Jason's loyalties lie?
1. Chapter 1

**The Road Ahead**

Standard disclaimer applies – I don't own them and the BBC does.

A/N – This is a sequel to _Fortune's Fool._ Thank you _so_ much to those who reviewed the last chapter and who have supported the story! And to _sachi_ and _Angel_, who I couldn't reply to personally – thanks for your reviews! I really hope you enjoy the next step of the journey. I have to warn people, this one's set to be a bit of a slow-burner as we explore Jason's life in his rather different settings. I hope you'll be willing to give it a try and see if you like it. :-) Please enjoy!

Chapter 1

There were two cockerels _somewhere_ on the palace grounds. Jason had never been a country boy but he had always been led to believe that they were meant to crow in the _morning_. These little buggers crowed every minute of the damned day and apparently, right outside his window. There were peacocks, too in a small part of the grounds called _Hera's Garden_ and they made just as much of a racket.

He sat on his bed and listened to the cockerels' screeching wail yet again and his hands reflexively clenched into fists. Those blasted birds would drive him to distraction and he'd only _been_ at the palace for three days. The palace gardens were one of the few places that Jason had been granted unrestricted access to, but after hours of futile searching, he still couldn't work out where the birds were.

The young man rose and went to look out of his large, airy window. It led out onto a small balcony, overlooking an orchard but Pasiphae had kept the doors locked. She apparently had heard of his talent and propensity for leaping from daring heights. The locks could be easily broken, but Jason didn't see the point. Not yet. The sun rose higher in the sky, inching closer to midday when Pasiphae would come and find him to confirm that he was finally being released.

His mind wandered away, far from ornately carved marble walls and silk hangings to a comfy, modest little dwelling in a crowded, dusty street where his two friends would, he could only hope, be waiting for him. The thought of returning home again was one of the only things that had helped him to keep a grip on his temper, his sanity and the sense of being utterly overwhelmed - swallowed up by his new experiences.

Of course, if Hercules and Pythagoras were the hope that kept him looking forward, then Ariadne was the reality that kept him rooted to the present. Jason allowed himself a rare, easy smile as he thought of the companionship they had shared since his arrival at the palace. True, it was supervised and they were both under the strictest of instructions that neither was to be found in the other's room, no matter how innocent the circumstances.

But that did not mean they could not steal innocent conversations while walking the palace corridors, or sit on little white stone benches in the courtyards without fear of guards or prosecution or damning eyes. It was _heaven_ – it was more than Jason could have ever hoped for. He learned so much about her, about her life, her little personality traits, the way her eyes lit up with her smile. He of course, had to be more guarded with the truth but he told her what he could, a version of reality. The two of them had sat and talked for hours until Ariadne's duties had called her away.

Jason had no duties. He had no job, no friends, no purpose. It was like he was newly arrived in Atlantis again and once more had to forge a path for himself through bracken and thorns. On his arrival at the palace, Pasiphae had made it clear that things would be revealed to him as and when she saw fit. He had been led to his bedroom – large and beautifully decorated, both by his standards in his old life and compared to Hercules' flat.

Jason got the impression he would be spending a lot of time here, sometimes voluntarily, sometimes not so it was just as well that it was as comfortable as it was. A large bed stood near the window with a sturdy wooden trunk at the foot of the bed. Near a fireplace were two chairs and a small table and various jugs of water and other items lined the shelf spaces around the room. A large modesty screen sectioned off an area for washing and where servants would bring in hot water and a small bath. It was almost like having running water again though Jason felt uncomfortable with the idea that it was somebody's job to provide this for him.

With a reluctant sigh, Jason pushed away from the window and went back to flop down on his bed. His eyes fell upon his rather crumpled light red tunic that lay on the trunk at the end of his bed. He was back in his ordinary clothes and briefly wondered if that would earn him yet another reproach even though he had been assured that he may wear them when returning to the city. It had been made clear to him on his first day, as Pasiphae had brought him to his room that his clothing would have to change while staying at the palace.

For now, he just needed Pasiphae to come and sign his release papers, so to speak so that he could finally be free of the madness. There was a sound at Jason's door. He immediately tensed and turned his head but the scuffling footsteps just kept walking past. The boy sighed again, irritation playing at his frazzled nerves. The whole three days had felt like walking on eggshells – navigating one landmine after the next. Wherever possible, he had made it a point to keep to his own company, when not with Ariadne.

Jason had tentatively wandered the palace but even when using caution, was still rebuked for trespassing in forbidden areas. He had tried to avoid seeing both Pasiphae _and_ Minos and mealtimes were the only real obstacles. Breakfast could be avoided by sleeping late and the evening meal could sometimes be circumvented by taking himself away to a hidden corner of the palace gardens.

Only the midday meal was unavoidable but he was usually excused as soon as he had wolfed down a few bites, sitting as far away from the others as he could humanly manage without appearing rude. He would stare at his plate while conversations passed around him on topics that Jason had no clue about or opinion on. He had tried not to squirm under his perceived scrutiny. He was like the beggar at the feast. The painfully obvious,

elephant in the room, breaking all of their delicate tableware. He would catch Pasiphae staring, pointedly at him but the boy could never work out if he was doing something wrong or whether she simply _wanted_ to look at him. Minos seemed to pay him no attention and Jason was glad that he could almost slip away without notice.

Finally, he heard a light knock on his door. He hadn't a chance to reply before it was pushed open and Pasiphae entered the room. He stood to face her.

"So I can go now?" he asked, immediately, arms crossed over his abdomen. She paused and raised an eyebrow at his greeting and suddenly, unexpectedly, Jason felt a little embarrassed, perhaps even a little guilty. He couldn't be certain, but Jason fancied he could see a flash of hurt pass across his mother's features before she reigned it back in.

But only the impassive mask greeted him now and Jason inwardly sighed. He still half-expected her to draw her dagger and plunge it into his chest when she looked at him like that. Hell, whenever he passed her in the hallway for that matter! The impulse to run the other way from her was still one he fought each and every time he saw her.

"I see you are packed and ready to leave," the queen remarked, smoothly. Her eyes travelled down to his small leather satchel, resting on his bed and Jason felt himself faintly blush, though he wasn't sure why. Then her eyes moved over to the haphazardly discarded clothing he had been presented with on his arrival and his blush deepened a little more. He had more of an idea about that one.

Jason gave a one-shouldered shrug and tried to meet her eyes. He was getting better at it but it was still hard. "We agreed midday," he said. "It's almost time."

"Indeed it is." Then she smiled at him, warmly. Jason's insides flopped over. He wanted nothing to do with this woman, with this monster. So why did a sign of affection do this to him? Inwardly, the boy cursed his own weakness. "You have done well on your first visit, Jason."

At that, the young man snorted. "_Really_? Because from where I was standing, it looked like I was in the way wherever I went, I was never in the right place, or wearing the right clothes or saying the right things and, oh yes, Minos _hates_ me." He paused and shot her a hard glance. "I don't even think _you_ like me and you're the only one who _wants_ me here." He didn't mention Ariadne. Speaking about his relationship with her, in front of the queen, just seemed wrong.

Pasiphae sighed. "Minos does _not_ hate you. He will take some time to adjust but so must we all. And I am most glad to have you here, Jason." She hesitated, her voice catching a little. "I realise I may not express my intentions clearly and I shall have high expectations of you, but you must never doubt that you are wanted here." Pasiphae stepped closer to him and rested a palm against his cheek. Jason tried not to flinch but fortunately, she broke the connection quickly.

"However," Her voice was hard again, like iron. "These first few days I have allowed you to merely settle in." Jason resisted the urge to point out that he was anything _but_ settled. "When you return, we shall begin your routines." Jason's stomach tightened.

"What kind of routine?" he demanded, his muscles tensing as his jaw tightened. He felt his pulse quicken and his heart thud heavily. Pasiphae simply treated him to a curious look.

"Nothing that we have not discussed before, I assure you." She looked at the boy, meaningfully. "It was a clear expectation that you would begin to learn about your family, about your heritage." Pasiphae raised her chin and pinned him down with steely blue eyes. "Do you not remember the document?" It was clearly a challenge and one she knew he could not deny. Jason's sense of justice, of right and wrong would not allow the boy to deny that which he knew to be true.

She watched with grim satisfaction as a scowl spread over his youthful features and he glanced down at the ground. He gave one short, irritable nod but it was enough of a response for the queen. "Very well then," she continued, briskly. "When you return to us, we shall begin your education."

At that, Jason looked up, sharply. "I've _been_ educated!" he insisted, hotly. God knows, school was painful enough the first time around and he'd be damned if he went through it again! "Where I come from, I've done _years_ of school _and_ university!" Pasiphae smiled at him appraisingly, tilting her head to one side.

"I am glad to hear it. Clearly, you are not stupid. This is most gratifying to hear and, I must confess, something of a relief." Jason bit his tongue to stop the retort from escaping. His mother danced around insults like a moth round a flame. "Unfortunately, this education seems to serve you very little purpose in Atlantis. You were raised in a very different place, I gather." She didn't wait for him to respond. "As such, you must be versed in our _own_ history, our culture, our laws." She paused and almost smirked at him. "Our language." Jason bristled and she watched the boy's eyes darken, with faint amusement.

"A tutor will assess your current understanding and where there are gaps in your learning. You shall not be made to re-learn any skills you already possess. That would be pointless and a waste of your time. You will learn only what you need, to be both a functional member of the royal family and, for that matter, a _citizen of Atlantis_."

Her words bombarded his brain as torturous memories of study sessions and tutor-groups assaulted him all at once. Sitting indoors and learning was something Jason had loathed. He couldn't _wait_ to be finished with schooling and out in the real world. The thought of being forced back in to it again made him seethe – or maybe want to cry. He wasn't sure which. But Pasiphae's expression was so calm, so unassuming that it was difficult to hold on to his righteous anger.

"It is _reasonable_, under the circumstances, is it not?" she asked.

And that's what really angered Jason: for as much as he wanted to pick apart every action of his mother's, to find the evil plan lurking behind it, in this instance, there was none. She was right, damn it! Expecting him to have a Greek education in order to function in Atlantis, was _not_ an unreasonable demand. But that didn't mean he had to like it.

Again, he shrugged. "_Fine_," he muttered, looking down at his chest. A hand caught his chin and tilted his head upwards. Apparently, that _wasn't_ enough of a response.

"Yes, that's fine," he tried again quietly, just one step above a mutter though his tone was noticeably more civilised. Pasiphae gave his chin a light squeeze before nodding and then releasing him.

"But I'm not going to be the son you want," he suddenly exclaimed. "No matter how much you have me tutored and trained."

Pasiphae had begun to turn away from him but now she paused and slowly turned back to face him. Her expression was guarded and hard. "You don't know what kind of son I want," she said quietly.

Jason nearly sneered before he realised that gesture was borne from his mother. "I can guess," he returned in a hard, cool voice. She raised an eyebrow: a challenge. Jason's anger blissfully ignored his thudding heart. "Obedient; _mindless_; ruthless. That's not going to be me. I'm never going to be your next lapdog: your next _Heptarian_."

Jason credited himself with fast reactions but even he did not see the slap coming until he registered the burning blow across his face. His head whipped round to the side and when he turned back to her, his mouth hanging open, her lips were tightly pressed together, her eyes were both blazing and shining with moisture and her hand was trembling where it still hovered in the air. Jason held her gaze for a moment longer before dropping his own down. He didn't care if he wounded the queen. But this was like wounding his _mother_.

But a second later, and Pasiphae returned. Jason watched her expression smooth out into one of casual regard and her hand dropped neatly to her side once more. Only her eyes were a little harder than before but Jason held her gaze, regardless. He wasn't ready to apologise: he didn't think he _should_. But there _were_ limits, lines to cross and he was becoming more aware of them.

"Well then," she continued softly, as her gaze fixed with his, "it is a good thing that we understand each other." A look of regret briefly emerged from beneath the mask and Jason felt his guilt prickle in his chest to see it. The queen cleared her throat. "But yes. It is time for you to leave us." She finally broke his gaze and flicked her eyes towards the door. "Make good use of your three days and…" she hesitated a moment, "take care on the journey to your father."

Jason watched her turn away from him, with a slightly puzzled frown. She had clearly said her piece but benign words from this woman were still a confusing incongruence. But as Pasiphae made to go, Jason's own sense of propriety could not leave the exchange there. "Thank you," he mumbled. She paused a moment and turned to him with the slightest of smiles, curling up one corner of her mouth. Her eyes still held the edge of flint in them, though. And then she was gone, leaving him blissfully alone once more.

Jason waited a minute until he was sure enough time had passed for her to safely be out of the way and then he swiped up his bag from the bed and made sure everything he had packed from home was returning with him. He didn't want to leave anything behind. Like him, nothing from Hercules' house belonged in this place and besides, if he unpacked, if he left his items here then didn't this become _his_ _room_? And didn't that mean that he was _really_ living there? Jason shook his head, quickly and hurried out of the room.

He gave the wooden door a mighty heave to close it and winced as it clattered shut with a resounding bang that echoed down the hallway. Clearly, the gesture did not require as much force as he had anticipated. Hastily, Jason sprinted off down the hallway only to pull up short with a startled yelp.

Coming around the corner, was Minos, dressed in his more casual robes and clearly most surprised to encounter the whirlwind of Jason, hurtling towards him. His eyebrows raised in a silent question as Jason all but screeched to a halt, his expression horrified. Immediately, the boy stood back against the wall, his head bowed.

"I'm sorry, Your Majesty," he said quietly. Pasiphae, he would push the boundaries with. But Minos was different. The man terrified him on a good day but perhaps more than that, Jason found he had an inkling of respect for the man. His heart beat hard in his chest as he waited to be thrown in the dungeons or made to leap the bulls again.

But the king simply stood, silently regarding the boy, this newest addition to his household. Jason began to squirm, ever so slightly, where he stood. Finally, just when he thought he actually might have turned invisible and Minos was just staring intently at a crack in the wall, the king addressed him.

"We only run in this palace, if we are being chased." His voice was quiet and measured, almost as if speaking to a particularly dense or stubborn child.

Jason gulped, his face burning. "Yes, Sire," he mumbled. Minos gave an almost imperceptible nod. Then his steely eyes seemed to fix upon Jason's attire. Pasiphae had immediately christened them his _street clothes_. The boy was aware that Minos tolerated them less than _she_ did. Jason resisted the urge to lick his dry lips.

"The queen said that I could wear this. That it would be alright."

The lad almost held his breath as he watched the king narrow his eyes for a moment. "You are returning to your friend's house in the city?" he clarified. "The man, Hercules?"

Jason nodded. "Yes."

Minos thought for a second and then gave a brief nod of acknowledgement. "Very well. See to it that the first thing you do when you return here is to come straight to your chambers and change." Jason nodded once more, itching to be away.

"I will, Your Majesty." He held his breath, willing the king to dismiss him. With every moment he was delayed, Jason irrationally feared never being allowed to leave, to return home to his welcoming friends. But Minos took one step to the side and gestured with his hand for Jason to continue on his way. With a great effort, Jason suppressed his sigh of relief and pushed away from the wall, passing the king with a nod of his head.

But he got no more than a few steps when the king's voice stopped him in his tracks, once more. "And Jason?"

The boy's pulse quickened as he turned to face Minos.

"See to it that not only are you dressed appropriately but that you do not flatten yourself against a wall when I walk by." Again, Jason felt his face flush scarlet as he looked down at his hands. Minos' expression was suddenly harder to read. "I shall not have my stepson mistaken for a servant." Apparently, the king did not expect an answer to this: he continued on his way, leaving Jason to finally let out his sigh of relief.

At a calmer, but no less purposeful pace, Jason made his way out of the palace and back towards the city where his home awaited him.

* * *

Pythagoras gave the small cooking pot another stir and inhaled the rich aromas, with deep satisfaction. The young man let out a contented sigh. The stew would be a good one, even if he did say so himself. It was one of Jason's favourite meals. As midday approached, it was almost ready which was a small mercy as he had been salivating at the mere thought of it for some time now.

The blonde mathematician also considered it a blessing that Hercules was currently out – fending off the bigger man's attacks, where food was concerned was not a task for the faint of heart.

Suddenly, the front door burst open and the man himself strode through, a grin beaming across his ruddy face. Pythagoras glanced up from his cooking, tapping the wooden spoon one last time against the pan, before moving it off the fire.

"I was beginning to think you weren't going to make it back in time," he remarked, casually.

Hercules waved a dismissive hand. "I had everything under control. Just a little morning tipple." Pythagoras raised an eyebrow, in amusement.

"Well, at least you still have the shirt on your back. I suppose we should be grateful for small mercies." He noticed the flagon of wine that Hercules carried. "Does the tavern know you've taken that with you?"

His friend shot him a wounded look. "As if I would _steal_? From a _tavern_? The thought is unthinkable, Pythagoras! This, I bought. It's Jason's favourite." He suddenly looked embarrassed. "I mean, I know they'll have wine at the palace."

Pythagoras nodded. "Probably the very best wine," he agreed.

Hercules snorted, dismissively. "What do _they_ know about good wine? Nothing! They know _expensive_ wine – but not the sweet nectar that can send you into a Bacchanal festival of delights!

"Otherwise known as _under the table_." Pythagoras leaned down to check a tray of loaves, fresh from the bakery that morning that were warming near the fire. He heard his friend striding over and dumping the flagon down on the work surface with an over-exaggerated flourish. Irritably, Pythagoras straightened up and moved it to one side, out of the way of his preparations.

"Your problem, Pythagoras, is that you have no palette for the finer things in life."

The young man smirked. "The intricacies of my palette aside, I at least shall retain my faculties to _remember_ what I have imbibed the night before," he countered, a little primly, folding his arms across his narrow chest. Hercules chuckled and shook his head in a somewhat patronising manner.

"My friend, some of the finest mysteries of this world are meant to be experienced _in the heat of the moment_!" He paused and eyed the younger man sadly. "Not taken apart, piece by piece, methodically examined, rationalised and put back together in more-or-less the same condition you found it in." Pythagoras stiffened at the mocking tone.

"I _believe_ you are mistaking the _mysteries of life_ to the mindlessness caused by drinking the last dregs of the wine skein until you stumble into _utter oblivion_."

Hercules immediately puffed up. However, as he opened his mouth to launch into a mild tirade, they both started at the sound of a low, soft chuckle coming from the doorway.

"It's so good to see that some things haven't changed," Jason said, leaning against the doorframe with his arms folded across his chest and a smile spread across his face.

"Jason!" Pythagoras exclaimed, stepping forwards. He paused, a guilty expression passing over his face. "I didn't want you to come home to bickering." Hercules also turned to face him, a welcoming smile on his face, even as his eyes narrowed.

But Jason just shook his head. "Are you kidding? It's normality! After the last three days, trust me – it's just what I needed!" He dropped his bag on the floor by his feet and went to join them in the kitchen, as Pythagoras and Hercules moved around to meet him. The young mathematician enveloped his friend in a warm hug, patting him lightly on the back.

"Welcome home," he said, quietly and Jason's heart lurched a little at the word _home_. Yes, more than ever, this was the word that described this place and Jason understood it now more acutely and keenly than he had since…well, since he could remember.

When the blonde pulled away, Hercules immediately placed his hands on Jason's arms and gave them a firm squeeze, before pulling him into a quick, light embrace. Jason smiled at the older man who had now cupped a hand to one side of his face. It took Jason a second longer to realise that what he had first taken for a sign of affection was, in actuality, his older friend assessing him for injuries. It almost made the young man laugh out loud at Hercules' surreptitious mother-henning.

"Thanks," Jason replied. "It's good to be back. Lunch smells great."

Hercules draped an arm around the lad's shoulders, took up his wine jug and led him to sit at the table as Pythagoras brought the waiting bowls to the table and divided the bread amongst the plates. "You wait until you've tried the wine," he announced, proudly as he pushed the lad down onto the bench.

Jason grinned at his friend. "If it's been vetted by you, it should be good. Unless it's the wine you drink when you're already three sheets to the wind and wouldn't know wine from pond water." For a moment, Hercules looked as though he was considering being offended, until he realised that the dark-haired boy had a perfectly valid point.

"Not at all! This is the good stuff for the _start_ of the journey." He snagged an earthenware cup from the wooden boards of the table and generously filled it before handing to Jason. He watched the lad eagerly as he obligingly brought it to his lips, aware that his reaction was going to be scrutinised. Jason took a measured sip and was relieved that he didn't have to employ his fairly poor acting skills to convince his friend that it was good – the wine was sweet and potent. He'd have to be very careful how much he drank and how quickly.

Hercules watched the surprise and satisfaction spread over the boy's face and his own grin intensified. "See? What did I tell you?" He poured himself a very generous cup, then one for Pythagoras and sat down next to Jason. The young man nodded. He took another drink.

"It's very good," he assured his friend. _Very_ good. He was already starting to feel a little light-headed and he'd only had two gulps. Jason sighed and looked around the house. On the way back home, passing through the streets of Atlantis, Jason had repeatedly stopped himself from breaking out in to an outright run in his urgency to get home. As it was, he couldn't help speeding up in to a steady trot, the closer he drew, past the agora.

It had only been three days but it was still the longest time he had spent away from his new friends since arriving in Atlantis. As he had pushed open his front door and heard the familiar sounds of his friends' good-natured griping, Jason smiled to himself at the warmth that had flooded his heart. There had seemed very little that had been good-natured or warm about life in the palace. He couldn't even say that time with Ariadne had produced the same effect. She was…intoxicating. Alluring. But she wasn't the same warm, familiar safety: not yet.

Pythagoras slowly made his way from the kitchen to the table with a large cooking pot carefully balanced in his hands, a thick cloth wrapped around it to protect them from the heat. Both Hercules and Jason instinctively winced to see it. On more than one occasion, their erstwhile clumsy friend had proven that heat, as well as sharp objects seemed to bear no love for him.

But Fortune appeared to have blessed the young genius that day and he safely delivered the meal to the table. Jason let out a quiet sigh of relief, amused to notice from the corner of his eye, that Hercules had done the same. Oblivious to this, Pythagoras happily announced: "Let us eat!" And as Pythagoras spooned the stew into the bowls and Hercules passed around the plates of bread, Jason tried not to think about how much _smaller_ the house appeared now. It was true, that he was immensely glad to be back but he couldn't shake the feeling that everything seemed just a little out of place now. Like it didn't quite fit together the same way that it used to. Or that maybe _he_ didn't fit into this house as he once did.

That low, spiralling feeling tugged once more at the pit of his stomach and threatened to draw him down again. Jason dropped his eyes to his bowl as he felt his gut twist and tighten. But listening to his friends' cheerful banter and feeling their eager eyes upon him, Jason forced a smile onto his face, regardless. _You're just feeling out of sorts_, he told himself firmly. It was no different to the unsettled feeling he got when he came and went from university. It would pass with a good meal and a long-overdue conversation with his friends.

"So," Pythagoras started, brightly. "Tell us about life at the palace. It must be very different to get used to."

Jason tried not to grimace. Instead he offered a small shrug. "It's okay. Different, but it's not too bad." Pythagoras' keen blue eyes still fixed on his own and Jason's heart sunk when he realised his friend was looking for a far more detailed explanation than that. In order to give his mouth something else to do besides speak, Jason spooned some stew into his mouth and made an obvious show of eating.

"This is delicious," he mumbled around chewing. Pythagoras beamed at his response.

"And I trust you're behaving yourself?" Hercules barked, pointing his spoon at him. Jason gripped his own spoon a little tighter and bit his tongue. If his behaviour was scrutinised and monitored any more closely, the young man was likely to scream. He pushed the stew around the bottom of his bowl with more force than was strictly necessary.

But he didn't want to insult his friends, either. They only cared and Hercules' comment had not been meant to upset him. Jason knew this and he forced his brain to remember this very important fact and not to listen to the reaction his gut was currently trying to force out of him.

He gave a short nod. "I'm on my best behaviour," he confirmed. "My hair's combed and everything." He made it a point to give Hercules his best, charming smile. Hercules, he noted however, only seemed to narrow his eyes slightly in response. It made the annoyance prickle again inside the boy. What more did he _want_ from him?

"So what's new around here?" Jason asked. He couldn't help but inwardly cringe at how forced the conversation felt. Even Pythagoras blinked in surprise.

"Nothing has changed," he assured his friend, with an easy smile. "Life is very slow here. Hercules drinks at the tavern and stumbles home in the morning."

"In the _evening_," Hercules cut in, quickly. Jason couldn't help but smile back.

Pythagoras paid their older friend no mind. "And I continue to keep this house in order and tinker away at my latest mathematical theories." He paused, his eyes flaring up for a moment. "Did you know, Jason, the palace has such _wonderful_ archives? They are truly one of the greatest marvels of our time. The libraries that are said to be contained within those walls!" The young man sighed longingly, resting his chin on his hand and his eyes almost glazed over. Jason felt his smile fade. "I don't suppose you've seen them yet, have you?" Pythagoras asked, eagerly, leaning more towards him.

Jason shifted uncomfortably, swirling the spoon around the sides of the bowl and turning the stew into soup. The young man gave another awkward shrug. "Not yet," he mumbled quietly, looking down to the table. "There's a lot of places there that I'm still not allowed to go." The boy suddenly gave a short, mocking laugh: "If it's as precious as you say it is, I doubt they'll want the likes of me anywhere _near_ it."

A silence fell over the table, like a blanket. Jason gave up clattering the spoon around the edges of the bowl and just laid it down instead. Pythagoras gave an uncomfortable smile and Jason sighed heavily at his own stupidity. How like him to kill the mood as quickly as it had begun.

The dark-haired young man looked up to see his friend looking at him warmly, sincerely. "I'm sure that's not true," Pythagoras assured him.

Jason tried to smile back. "Can we not talk about the palace?" he asked, aiming for casual. "I'd rather just concentrate on being back here. On our normal life. If you don't mind?" For a moment, Jason was afraid that he had managed to insult his young friend. Pythagoras seemed to be searching his face for something, his keen eyes seeing things that Jason could only imagine.

But the blonde genius simply nodded. "Of course. I was thinking we should take a walk down to the beach tomorrow morning. Maybe pack something for lunch? It's been so long since I've walked along the shore and the weather is too sublime to spend it indoors."

Jason grinned back. "Are there any rock-pools?" he wondered. "I used to love poking around in them when I was young."

"As long as you don't go falling in them," Hercules remarked, dryly. Jason rolled his eyes, sorely tempted to point out that that was more Hercules' style than his.

"Yes. Lots," Pythagoras answered. "I was quite keen on sketching the fascinating creatures that dwelt within them." He was suddenly lost in a thoughtful look. "Parchment is not cheap and I generally like to keep it for my triangles…but I must confess that I am tempted to sit and try to classify the specimens we find." He sat up a little straighter and Jason and Hercules tried not to grin at the wave of enthusiasm that appeared to have engulfed their young companion. "You know, aside from the beautiful congruence of triangles, the infinite variety of nature is perhaps one of the gods' greatest gifts to us."

Hercules firmly shook his head. "Wine. That's the greatest gift, followed closely by pies. _Nature_ is just a pleasant afterthought in which a man might sit and _drink_ wine and _eat_ pies." He wiped the last chunk of bread around his bowl, mopping up the final juices of the stew and devoured it, hungrily. Pythagoras tried not to grimace at the loud chewing noises and the stains of food over Hercules' chin and shirt. Honestly, it was like eating with an over-eager toddler at times.

Pythagoras folded his arms, squarely and raised a challenging eyebrow to Hercules. "What about the women?"

"I'm impressed you've remembered them, Pythagoras. I admit, they come in a very close third – ah! Those _curves_." A slow smile spread over his face.

Pythagoras smiled, patiently. "No. I meant _man's _greatest pleasure is wine and pies. So what is a _woman's_?"

Hercules returned his look, uncomprehending. "She _makes_ the pies," he clarified, emphatically. "Honestly, there can _be_ no greater gift for her."

Jason snorted in response and was rewarded by a pointed clearing of the throat by his older friend. "Speaking of the delights of eating, I'd like to see a little more from _you_ in that respect as well, please." He reached out a meaty finger and tapped Jason's nearly full bowl of thoroughly stirred-up stew.

Jason glanced down to where the liquid sloshed a little too close to the edges of the bowl, his body tensing at the tone he clearly heard. He took a deep breath and turned to Pythagoras, ignoring Hercules and the big man's blossoming frown. "It's really good, Pythagoras," he started. "But I'm a bit tired. Will it re-heat on the stove for later?"

His friend gave him a quizzical look but after a few seconds, he smiled and nodded.

"Of course. Let me put it back in the pot." He moved to slide the bowl away from Jason but the movement was suddenly halted by the barrier of Hercules' hand.

"I'm sure you could manage a couple of mouthfuls," he informed Jason, his voice quiet but with a definite firmness lacing his words. "Maybe a bit of bread, too." Jason pressed his lips together tightly, as Hercules continued.

"You'll need some food in you after that wine – it's strong stuff," he tried, cajolingly. "A bit more before you leave the table." Suddenly Jason pushed backwards, scraping his stool against the floor.

"Just _stop it_!" he demanded, glaring hotly at Hercules. "I've _had_ _enough_!" Pythagoras gaped, wide-eyed at him but Jason either didn't notice his friend's reaction or he didn't care. Hercules just stared grimly at him as Jason continued, his voice rising. "I've had _three days_ of people telling me what I _can_ do and what I _can't_ do: what I can _wear_, where I can _walk_, what I can _say_!" He paused for a moment, his breath starting to come out in harsh gasps. Pythagoras swallowed past a lump in his throat, itching to interrupt but sensing that Jason _needed_ to speak. "I can't _turn around_ without somebody passing judgment on me and telling me what to do and I'm sick to bloody death of it!"

The dark-haired boy's eyes shone brightly and though his following words were spoken more quietly, they were no less strangled and wrought: "I don't need this from my friends, too." Then, abruptly, he stood and left the room, disappearing through the doorway to the balcony. Hercules watched him go with hard, wary eyes. He made to follow but Pythagoras held up a forestalling hand.

"I'll go," he insisted quietly, rising to follow their friend. When he arrived on the balcony, concern for Jason radiating from his expression, he found the young man sitting on the floor, back leaning against the wall and his head bowed to his chest. His arms were shaking, ever so slightly Pythagoras noted.

"Jason?" he asked softly, aware that the boy knew he was there. He came to stand beside him. Jason turned his head in his direction, though he did not look up.

Instead, the young man took a deep, shaky breath. "I'm sorry," he breathed and then bowed his chin back down to his chest. Taking that as an invitation to stay, Pythagoras silently slid down against the wall, until he was seated next to him.

"It's alright."

"No. It's not. You guys shouldn't have heard all that. It wasn't meant for you."

"We're your friends, Jason," Pythagoras insisted, quietly. "It _should_ have been meant for us." But Jason shook his head, sadly. Footsteps stopped a little way behind them, indicating that although Hercules had followed, he was content, for the time being at least, to let Pythagoras do the talking. The young mathematician turned slightly to see the beefy man lean against the doorframe, his arms folded across his chest. A deep, heavyset frown marred the older man's forehead.

Also sensing the other man's presence, Jason turned to glance over his shoulder. "I'm sorry, Hercules." He turned back to Pythagoras, eyes still shining and swallowing back the pain in his throat. "It's just that I've never been so controlled in my life and I just need _here_ to be _normal_." His hazel eyes implored his friend. "You know? Everything is starting to get so crazy and what I really need is for _this place_," he gestured around them all with both hands, "to stay the same." He closed his eyes and leant his head back until it rested against the wall. Pythagoras took the opportunity to take a quick survey of the pale, drawn features, the darkening circles under his eyes. "I need to know that when I come home, I'm leaving all that behind me."

When a warm hand rested on Jason's shoulder, the young man opened his eyes and looked in to the caring expression of his friend. The warmth from the contact made him smile and ache for more. "We don't want to control you, Jason," Pythagoras began, causing Jason to faintly blush. But the young genius carried on before a protest could be formed.

"I realise things must be very different there and I don't want to pry if you'd rather not talk about it. At least, I hope you will soon. But not right now, maybe. But please believe that we aren't trying to be controlling – we just want to make sure that you're alright." He gave a soft, embarrassed laugh. "You know I worry. And Hercules likes to fuss. It keeps him busy."

"I know," Jason agreed, his voice quiet but finally starting to sound more at peace.

Behind them, Hercules muttered something under his breath. Not hearing what it was, the boys decided it was best left alone. Instead, Pythagoras gently elbowed Jason in the ribs. "Can we say that this is all behind us now then and begin your day again?"

Jason smiled, shyly. "I'd appreciate it if we could forget my little meltdown, yes."

Pythagoras grinned and draped an arm lightly across his shoulders. "Then why don't we go for a nice walk?" he suggested. "Maybe stop by the tavern on the way home?" He was relieved and rewarded by his friend giving a grateful nod.

"That sounds great. Thanks." Pythagoras smiled and pushed himself up standing.

"I'm going to fetch my money pouch. I can see _us_ being the ones who are buying the rounds."

As he moved past Hercules, however, the larger man snagged his arm. Sighing, Pythagoras had suspected this was coming and wasn't surprised when he was neatly pulled over to the side, out of earshot of the boy on the balcony.

"What good, _exactly_, did that little talk do?"

Pythagoras gently shook his head. "This is obviously a bad day for him. Just be patient and try not to push." He carefully extracted his arm from Hercules' grip and patted him on the shoulder. The older man just harrumphed before turning on his heel and stalking to his bed. Pythagoras watched him go and sighed, hoping the rest of Jason's three days would proceed more smoothly.

* * *

That's it for now! Don't worry – not all the chapters are that long, but I wanted to end it in a certain place. I hope people didn't mind wading through it, too much. As always, I would very much like to know what you thought. A couple of words would make my day and spur my writing on! Thank you for reading this far. :-)


	2. Chapter 2

The Road Ahead – Chapter 2

Standard disclaimer applies…

Not a lot of action yet, I'm afraid but some well-deserved down-time for the boys…. ;-)

Thank you SO much to those who were kind enough to review – I'm very glad people are enjoying the story, so far. And thank you to _sachi _– yes, there will be lots more of Jason and Pasiphae and, dare I say it, a smidgen of Ariadne in there, too!

Chapter 2

Jason had risen early the next day, despite the three friends spending longer in the tavern the day before, than they had anticipated. But the sun shone brightly that morning, the sky was a rich, azure blue and, on coming to stand on the balcony and looking out over the awakening world, Jason just felt the day was begging him to step right in.

He waited, with almost childish impatience, while Pythagoras packed a small basket with food and some flasks of wine and ale. It was sort of ridiculous, given they were only going down to the beach, but to Jason, it _felt_ like an outing and he couldn't remember the last time he'd had one of those: a begin, relaxing day out with good friends. The young man grinned in anticipation and resisted the urge to ask, _again_, if Pythagoras was nearly ready. He really didn't want to sound pushy and was well aware that he had started to edge closer to the front door and then back again, like an over-eager puppy wanting to go for a walk.

Mercifully, after carefully rolling some fresh parchment into a leather satchel, Pythagoras merrily announced that he was ready. Jason grinned and snatched up the picnic basket. "Great," he enthused. Pythagoras smiled, secretly wondering how long it had been since Jason had been indulged with a simple day out.

Jason looked towards the door to Hercules' room. "_Come on_, Hercules!" he called. The bigger man had yet to make an appearance, although Jason had made quite sure that he was awake _and_ at an hour usually deemed _unsafe_ for waking him. Jason, apparently, had been prepared to brace himself for that particular storm and had darted out of Hercules' room before any lasting damage could be done.

Now, Hercules stumbled, blearily out of his room, rubbing a hand over his face and grumbling heartily. "_Alright_! By the name of all the gods, I'm up! I'm here and if anyone so much as _breathes_ a 'Good Morning' or an 'Ooh, what a lovely day it is', I shall _not_ be held accountable for the carnage released in this room." He stood and glowered at his two young companions who were waiting for him by the door.

"Now, my friend," Pythagoras remarked, soothingly, "all of us know that would require far too much effort and that if you had not drunk to excess last night, you would not be in this position in the first place." Jason chuckled and tried to look innocent when Hercules levelled a grumpy frown at him. "There are pies and ale in the basket," Pythagoras added, smiling indulgently. Both boys watched as Hercules' frown began to soften at the edges.

The larger man pursed his lips, looking thoughtful. "You both appear to believe that my good graces can be bought with pastry and alcohol."

Jason smiled brightly at him: hopeful, imploring and so full of easy-going innocence that even without the promise of being fed and watered, Hercules felt a large part of his annoyance melt away. "And I suppose that's true enough." With a smile of his own, Hercules joined them both and draped an arm over Jason's shoulders. "Come on, then. Apparently the beach is going to up and leave Atlantis if we don't get down there right away!"

Jason did look a little embarrassed as he allowed Hercules to shepherd him out of the door, Pythagoras following behind and locking up the house. But that still didn't stop him from eagerly trotting down the steps and into the street, or from keeping such a clipped pace to the beach that Hercules almost had to puff to keep up, nor from keeping up a constant stream of animated chatter. And though his older friend outwardly nagged and grumbled, inwardly, the bigger man was smiling, fondly.

* * *

Jason had been sitting on the beach, squelching his bare toes through the wet sand and relishing the sensation for the past hour, at least. Pythagoras sat a short distance away on some smooth, angled rocks, trying to sketch the birds he saw, skimming down onto the waves. It surprised Jason a little: he had always thought those with mathematical and scientific minds wouldn't be prone to artistry but actually, his friend was a very good sketcher. He supposed you had to have an eye for detail and precision and Pythagoras certainly had that, in abundance. He glanced back to where the young man sat, alternating his gaze from the sea to the parchment in his lap, his blonde curls blowing gently in the breeze and the sleeves from his oversized tunic occasionally billowing in the odd gust of wind.

Jason smiled to himself. It was more than a good eye and a steady hand: Pythagoras had the biggest heart out of anyone he had ever known – the brain of a mathematician and the soul of an artist.

Hercules had been talking to him for a while but had recently grown bored of sitting and watching the waves and had taken himself off for a walk. At least that's what he had said. Jason suspected he was simply dozing behind a small sand dune somewhere. So, the dark-haired young man turned his attention back to the sea, listening to the gentle roar and swish of the waves as they lapped onto the shore, tickling his toes. It suddenly struck him that this was the first time since arriving in Atlantis that he had retuned to the beach. He glanced across and further out to sea where he had first spotted that small fishing boat, setting sail. How strange it now felt, coming back to where it all began. How much had happened in that time? How much could he never have anticipated, even in his wildest dreams? A strange mixture of nostalgia and melancholy struck him square in the chest and for a moment, Jason wondered at how he could feel so at peace and still so utterly alone.

A cry of gulls and terns suddenly drew his attention back to the ocean where they swooped and dived for the fish that had swum too close to the surface and Jason relaxed once more. It was a cliché to say the ocean made him feel small, but it made it no less true. But more than that, the ocean was the one thing that had not changed between the world he left and the world he now found himself in. It was steady, constant – imprinted by nature, not carved out by man. Staring into the endless roll of the waves, Jason closed his eyes and let his mind drift to any place, to any time that he wished to be in.

With a contended sigh, Jason lay back and closed his eyes, allowing the sun to envelope him in its golden warmth. It felt good, peaceful. In that moment, there was no demand on his time or on his loyalties: no Palace and all the expectations that went with it; no future to forge. Just the here and now.

"Jason?"

Jason turned his head towards Pythagoras' voice and opened his eyes, immediately squinting at the bright glare of the sun.

"Come and have some lunch," his friend suggested. "I've got it laid out. We just need to find Hercules."

Jason pushed himself up until he was leaning on his elbows. "I think I heard him snoring somewhere over there." He pointed further along the beach. Pythagoras followed where he pointed and smirked.

"Let us hope that he is not swarmed by crustaceans then."

With a chuckle, Jason stood and together, they went in search of their friend. It didn't take long to find him. The raucous snoring grew steadily louder, the closer they drew until before long, they found him securely nestled in a comfortable-looking bed of soft, white sand, his mouth wide enough to catch a passing gull, should it stray too near.

The boys shared a knowing smile before Pythagoras carefully stepped closer, knelt down by the slumbering man's head, and gently shook his shoulder. "Hercules?" he called. "Wake up." Jason looked on, grin widening as the only response Pythagoras got was an irritated twitch of the man's nose. Sighing, he tried again, shaking with a little more vigour and preparing to leap away at the first sign of movement. However, Hercules simply muttered a string of nonsensical noises, still deep within sleep and, if such a feat were even possible, buried himself deeper into the sand. Helplessly, Pythagoras looked up to Jason.

"Oi! Pies and wine!" Jason shouted.

He shared a look of anticipation with his young friend as, for a moment, Hercules' head seemed to turn towards the brunette lad. But though it was the most life they had seen out of him, still, his neck relaxed and he turned his head back to one side, smacking his lips softly together and his eyes tightly sealed shut.

Pythagoras sighed and stood. "Well," he said. "If that didn't do it, I'm rather afraid we shall have to resort to more drastic measures." He paused, giving Jason an appraising look. "You run more quickly than I do. I shall instruct from a safe distance, but you shall have to do it."

But as he turned to walk away, he noted the glint of mischief in Jason's eyes and warily turned back to face him. "What is it?" the young blonde asked, cautiously. Jason was not renowned for his brilliant ideas.

Jason stared at the sleeping Hercules and smiled, wickedly. "Where I come from," he informed Pythagoras, "an opportunity such as this, means only one thing." Before Pythagoras could question further, Jason darted off to where they had dumped their supplies on arrival and quickly returned with one of the, now empty, ale flasks. But rather than returning straight to Pythagoras, he made a quick detour to the sea where he filled the container with water.

Curiously, Pythagoras waited for him to reach him before raising a querulous eyebrow, his arms folded across his chest.

Jason said nothing, but knelt by the large man's feet, poured some of the water into the sand and then, when the mixture was compact enough, began to pack it securely around their friend's feet. Pythagoras widened his eyes in shock.

"You cannot be serious?" he demanded, incredulously. His eyes darted, worriedly, to the so-far slumbering hulk. But far from being perturbed, Jason simply grinned at him and continued to firmly ensconce the man's feet and then proceed to his lower legs.

"Don't just stand there," Jason told him. He nodded towards the empty flask: "We're going to need a lot more water."

Pythagoras shook his head. "He's going to be very angry, Jason."

Jason chuckled. "He'll get over it. Now, _quick_. Before he wakes up!"

And finally, a slow smile spread over the young genius' face as he looked down to the quickly disappearing Hercules. He snatched up the empty flask. "Just remember," he warned, pointing a finger Jason's way. "This was entirely your idea and I was coerced."

Jason looked at him, seriously. "Absolutely." Then he gave him a wink. "Just tell him I threatened your triangles."

As it turned out, being unable to scratch your nose when harangued by an itch, was a sure-fire way to wake a person up. On returning to the land of the living, Hercules had first mumbled in confusion, then in annoyance until finally he had let out an outraged bellow. Jason and Pythagoras had not been far away, enjoying their lunch and on hearing the guttural expletives of an enraged Minotaur, had quickly run over to him.

Apparently, Pythagoras need not have worried that he would have to bear the wrath of his wrestler-friend. Immediately, on seeing the two of them rounding the corner, Hercules had ceased his efforts to sit up and had fixed the full force of his glare, squarely upon Jason.

"You!" he roared and once more resumed his struggles to free himself, floundering red-faced and bulging-eyed in the sand. Cracks began to spread across the smoothed surface of his sandy prison.

Even so, Pythagoras took a step back and glanced in concern between the quickly escaping Hercules and his young friend. It crossed his mind that Jason may not be able to run so quickly on the ever-shifting, often sinking sand. However, escape was a moot point. Jason collapsed on the ground, laughing uncontrollably. He laughed so hard that tears ran down his face and he slapped the sand beside him.

"Just you wait, boy!" Hercules spluttered. "I'll give you something to cry about." The muscles in his neck were straining and Hercules grunted and groaned as if he was back in the wrestling arena. It was both amazing and quite frightening, how quickly the larger man freed himself and scrambled to his feet, brushing huge chunks of sand from his trousers. There was still a good deal of it crammed down his shirt and in other places that he didn't like to think about.

But still Jason didn't bother running. He simply sat, his doom approaching with menace, laughing so hard that he gasped to breathe. Even Pythagoras had broken into a grin, feeling safety by the ale. Hercules wouldn't risk harm befalling the drink.

Jason was even laughing when Hercules bodily scooped him up and threw him over his shoulder. "S…s…sorry," he gasped between giggles though there had never before _been_ such an insincere apology. The boy continued to silently shake, even as Hercules strode into the sea and dumped him on his backside. Now, even Pythagoras was openly laughing and for a good few minutes, Jason sat in the surf, trying to get himself back under control.

Hercules stalked away from him and immediately swiped up the cup of ale and plate of cakes that Pythagoras was holding out to him, presumably by way of a peace offering. He treated the blonde boy to a light glare, sure he must have borne some part in it, at least. But the trick of ale and cake was starting to work on him and already, Hercules' ire was mellowing. He took a deep swig of ale and a large bite out of his cake, seemingly consuming the two simultaneously. As he did so, Hercules looked back to the ocean where Jason was just beginning to drag himself out of the water, amused exhaustion written all over his face.

And despite, clearly, being the butt of the boy's joke, Hercules felt himself smile. _That boy_, he thought, with fond exasperation. He had never been blessed by the Gods with children – he hadn't even thought he had _wanted_ them. But Jason and Pythagoras allowed him a window – just a glimpse – into what he might have known and it was both a blessing and a curse. How different his life would have been, he found himself wondering, if these boys had come into it earlier.

Jason approached him now, smiling but with his laughter under control, and his hands held up in surrender. "Peace!" he implored as he reached the older man. For a moment, Hercules levelled a heavy frown at the boy.

"You're very lucky that I am in a charitable mood," he accused, "Else I would have dangled you from these cliffs by your ankles, until the gulls made breakfast out of your sorry hide!"

At that, Jason burst out laughing again, despite his best efforts to reign it in. Hercules narrowed his eyes at the lad's insuppressible mirth and shook his head. That boy was going to get himself into trouble one of these days, especially with the likes of Minos and Pasiphae lurking in the shadows. But for now, right at this moment, his boy was happy and carefree and Hercules found that he couldn't begrudge him his moment of humour. Even so, he aimed a light swat at the boy's backside as Jason tried to walk past him, which only made him laugh all the harder.

"_Scamp_," he muttered. But he soon joined the others who had sunk down around the blanket, now spread with the delicious lunch that Pythagoras had packed. And it was with shared laughter and light hearts that they finished their meal together, Jason quickly drying from his dunk in the sea and all of them soaking up not only the sun, but the warmth their small, irregular family had to offer.

* * *

The day had passed with pleasant memories. Pythagoras had sketched and described as many strange creatures as he and Jason could find in the rock-pools. He had nearly slipped in to them several times, and would have done if not for a lightning quick hand grabbing him back, either from Jason or Hercules. Hercules had brought knucklebones and dice and had succeeded in enticing both boys into a couple of games. They gambled for seashells because Pythagoras said Hercules owed them both enough money as it was.

Jason had swum in the ocean for as long as he could before he tired and had to come back. He fell asleep on the beach, next to his clothes. It had been obvious he had been intent on redressing himself before succumbing to fatigue and sleeping where he knelt. The idea of returning the joke the boy had played on him earlier, surprisingly, did not occur to Hercules. Instead, the older man had frowned at how quickly exhaustion had overcome his young friend, despite Pythagoras pointing out how active Jason had been. Still, he took the mathematician's advice and he didn't fuss or push. Instead, he had draped the blanket over the lad and let him sleep until the sun set and it was time to go home.

And now it was Jason's last day and all was far more subdued. Pythagoras tried to identify the new specimens he had sketched, Hercules stocked up the larders from the bustling market stalls and, for the most part of the day, Jason slept.

They debated waking him for lunch but eventually decided that, as Jason would have to leave for the Mountains of Galena while it was still dark, if he was going to arrive by midday, then he could probably use the rest. He emerged briefly for dinner, scowling when he realised he had slept away most of his last day. It hadn't been easy, trying to rally him out of his dark mood but Pythagoras and Hercules eventually managed to succeed.

Soon after dinner, Jason quickly wore out once more and it was not long before, half-prompted by his friends and half of his own volition, Jason collapsed back onto his bed and slept until a few hours before dawn.

When the young man pulled himself out of bed, he sat for a moment, trying to clear the fog from his addled mind. A headache was slowing forming around his temples. Jason massaged the area, hoping to alleviate it. It made little difference and he sighed, heavily: clearly, he had slept for too long. Being as quiet as he could, Jason moved around in the darkness, cursing his stupidity that he had not packed the night before. What did Aeson _want_ from him? He found himself wondering. What was he going to need?

His stomach clenched when he thought about those dark, unending mines and he only hoped that what Pasiphae had told him about the new settlement, was true.

Jason lit a small oil lamp and used its limited light to find his sandals, his travelling cloak and his leather satchel. He shoved the same games from his first journey into the bag and a change of clothes. Then the boy paused, and sat back on his haunches, rummaging through the bag on the floor to double-check its contents. If he _did_ have to venture into the mines, they would be dark. So would the journey ahead of him. Jason hesitated before quietly creeping into the living room and taking some wax candles from one of the shelves and a small box of tinder and flint. He would die before admitting it to any of his friends, but he did not like the dark. A torch would have been better, but Pythagoras had recently tidied the house and Jason wasn't sure where they were now kept.

When all was packed and Jason had found enough water left in the jugs and bowls to have a quick wash, he threw his tunic on, belted it, extinguished the lamp and silently crept into the living room. The boy suddenly jumped in fright when he turned and saw, sitting at the table, two figures, lit by a modest lamp.

"God! You scared the _life_ out of me!" he whispered fiercely, hand on his chest, feeling his rapidly beating heart. Then he realised that there was no need to whisper, since the people he had been trying not to wake, were in fact sitting right in front of him.

In the lamp's soft yellow glow, Pythagoras looked contrite. "Sorry," he said, quietly. They may all have been up, but it still felt too early in the morning to be making loud noises. "But we never really got to say goodbye last night, as you went to bed so quickly. We thought we could share breakfast together before you leave?"

Beside Pythagoras, Hercules indicated the small selection of food on the table: bread, cheese, olives, fruit and jugs of orange juice and water. Jason raised his eyebrows. Oranges were not cheap to come by in Atlantis. Jason looked at his friends, gratefully. Though he had been more than prepared to do it, leaving home without saying goodbye had been eating a small hole in the pit of his stomach for some time now.

However, Jason cast a worried glance out into the night, still black as pitch. He bit his lower lip in a gesture that reminded Hercules more of the ever-worried Pythagoras rather than Jason. "The breakfast is great," he began, "and I'm really glad to be able to see you both before I go. But it's getting late. Or _early_…whatever." His face clouded with apprehension and his earlier expression of pleasant surprise, quickly fell. Jason shook his head with a mixture of irritation and sadness and sighed, wearily. "I don't think I'm going to make it to Galena by midday if I stay here much longer." He abruptly kicked his foot against the floor. "Damn it! I knew I should have got up earlier."

Pythagoras rose and smiled at him, kindly. "Don't worry. You always travel quickly." He paused and glanced down to the table. "I have already packed some food for your journey, but I could add a little extra in for breakfast, if you feel you must leave now?"

Jason's heart clenched at the kindness his friends showed him. They didn't even need to be _up_ at this ungodly hour, much less packing him food for the journey! It occurred to Jason then, that he hadn't even _considered_ that particular preparation. He had no idea where his head was, lately.

But Hercules gently cleared his throat. "Jason," he began carefully, not wanting a repeat of their earlier argument. "I'm sure Aeson will understand if you're a little late just this once. Sit down and have something quick before you go, eh?" The larger man tried very hard to keep his tone light – a request, not a command. He surely didn't want Jason to leave while annoyed, but nor did he fancy the boy making such a long journey on an empty stomach.

Thankfully, Jason hesitated for only a moment more before he acquiesced. With a small, still distracted, smile, Jason gratefully sunk down opposite his friends and accepted the plate of food that was passed to him. Though it did feel a little early to be eating, Jason still managed a good couple of slices of bread and cheese and gulped down the water, hoping hydration would help his headache.

"Thanks for this, guys," he muttered, eyes down in embarrassment as he ate. "You didn't have to go to all this trouble. Next time, I'll make sure I say goodbye properly before I go to bed." But Pythagoras shook his head.

"Nonsense. Seeing you off is no hardship. We can always go back to bed afterwards." Jason smiled, secretly thinking that he couldn't see Hercules dragging himself up before dawn every time, no matter _how_ much he may wish to show solidarity!

"This is a _ridiculous_ time to expect you to be up, anyway," Hercules grumbled, crossly. Jason just sighed and shrugged. The truth was, he felt the same way but he _had_ agreed to the terms. But Hercules was not mollified by the boy's apparent acceptance. He continued to scowl over his olives and feta. "Honestly, has your father even _thought_ about the practicality of these arrangements? About what it's going to entail for _you_?" Jason opened his mouth to respond, but his older friend kept right on talking so Jason closed it again. He had, once more it seemed, mistaken a _conversation_ for a _rant_.

He turned and shared a half-amused smile with Pythagoras.

"I mean," Hercules continued, "it's all very well and good for _him_ – sitting and waiting for you. And _them_," he said, thumbing randomly behind him in the general direction of the city, "sitting comfy in their palace, just waiting for you to show up on their doorstep. But _you're_ the one who has to do all the to-ing and fro-ing." Hercules tore a large chunk out of his bread and began chewing, angrily.

Jason just stayed quiet, knowing full well that his entry into the conversation would not help matters. He busied himself with eating a few figs while he waited for Hercules to argue himself out. "_And_ you'll be making the journey in the dark!"

Jason swallowed his food. "It'll be dawn soon," he pointed out. Having Hercules riled up was never really a good thing.

The older man just harrumphed. "Well you're going to have to speak to him, Jason. He's a reasonable man, even if he _clearly_ hasn't thought this through. Ask him to let you meet him at a later time. Or better yet," he added, "make it every other week."

Jason looked up in surprise. The idea was tempting, even if it _did_ mean shirking his responsibilities. "Do you think he would agree?" Now that the idea had been introduced, it was tantalising, the possibility becoming a reality in his head, before its time.

Pythagoras looked thoughtful. "Aeson seems a reasonable man and he clearly loves you. The mountains of Galena _are_ a long way to travel in so short a time and so regularly. I would think he would want you, above all else, to be happy and well."

Next to the young, blonde man Hercules nodded his agreement. "Ask him," he said, firmly. "It can't hurt to ask."

Jason looked down, lost in thought. "No," he agreed, quietly. "I guess it can't." He was silent a moment longer before abruptly pushing up from the table. "Well," he announced, "I really do have to get going now." The others stood too and walked with him to the door.

Jason slipped his coarse woollen travelling cloak over his head and slung his leather bag over one shoulder. Pythagoras handed him another small, wrapped parcel and a sealed flask, which Jason stowed safely into his bag. "Thanks," he said and then they lightly clasped each other's forearms.

Turning to the door, he saw that Hercules was holding it open for him. A strange combination of nonchalance, fondness and worry was painted over his gruff face, as one emotion bled into the other. "Take care on the journey," Hercules commanded, levelling a stern glare at him, as though Jason was fully intending to travel it with reckless, wild abandon. The boy smiled.

"I shall do my best," he said, with mock solemnity, a twinkle of amusement in his eye. Hercules grunted in response and pulled the lad into a quick, fierce hug. When he released him, he thrust an unlit torch into the boy's hand. Jason accepted it with a murmured, "Thanks," hoping his acute relief wasn't too obvious to his companions.

Then he gave them both one last smile, praying it made him look self-assured and enthusiastic before stepping out of the door and descending the wooden steps. Once he was on the street, he turned at the sound of Pythagoras' voice, calling quietly:

"Good luck! With your father and with the Palace. Do not worry – all will be well." He gave Jason a short wave which the lad returned. Then the door closed, swallowing up the light from the lamp and Jason was left in the dark streets.

Sighing, he adjusted the slight weight of the bag on his shoulder and set off towards the path that would lead him out of the city.

* * *

OK. Thank you to all who made it this far! Please drop me a couple of words to let me know what you thought. I really do appreciate the feedback and encouragement.


	3. Chapter 3

The Road Ahead

Standard disclaimer applies. I don't own them.

A/N – thank you to all the lovely, lovely people who are reading this and to those who were kind enough to drop me a couple of words of feedback – I really appreciate your comments :-) I know this story is a slow-burner, but I'm going to spend a little time establishing Jason's set-up in his new 'homes' so to speak before the action kicks in so I ask people to please bear with me! It *is* coming, I swear! I really hope you enjoy the next part.

Chapter 3

Dawn had seemed a long time coming. Moving through the city streets had not been so bad, but once he left the city behind him and ventured deep into the forest, the blackness swarmed around him. Jason had been very glad for the torch's light: the path was sometimes tricky to find and, in places, steep drops, twisted tree roots and fallen trees made it hazardous to manoeuvre.

But as soon as dawn blossomed, the forest became a more beautiful place. The harsh screech and howl of wildlife was replaced by the chirrups and the gentle call of animals. Jason relaxed and as he walked, pulled out Pythagoras' lunch and munched slowly on an apple, lost in thought.

When Jason finally reached the Mountains of Galena, hours later, he stopped and rested. Though he had not taken the journey at a particularly fast pace, nor was the sun too high in the sky, Jason was irritated to feel his heart beating faster in his chest than he would have liked. His arms and legs trembled slightly and the headache, that had only grown as the morning continued, now made his head swim. A thin sheen of sweat soaked his body, too and Jason scowled at his own shortcomings. He must be out of shape. Perhaps life at the Palace was already softening him?

The boy frowned, slightly concerned. At the moment, the only _useful_ skill he had discovered since coming to Atlantis, was his physical agility: his ability to run, to leap, to climb, to fight. Without it, Jason wasn't sure what use he was to _anyone_. An uneasy feeling settled in the pit of his stomach. As soon as he had fulfilled whatever it was that Aeson wanted from him, he would have to get more exercise, he told himself, firmly. This tutor that Pasiphae had arranged for him, surely couldn't take up _all_ of his time?

A minute or so later, and his moment of dizziness had passed and his body once more felt stronger. Jason glanced up to the rocky ascent and carefully started the climb. Making the climb without his friends, seemed a little longer but the boy eventually clambered up to the top and stood, watching the gaping entrance carefully for any sign of movement.

"Jason?"

With a start, he spun around to his name. There, standing a little way off to the side, was Aeson. Jason couldn't help but gape. The man had not been there on his climb up, nor had he emerged from the entrance. Jason could not see where he could have come from. On noting his confusion, Aeson smiled and inclined his head behind them.

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to startle you. There is a small path that winds between these two walls. It leads to a clearing, behind the mountain."

Getting his heart-rate under control again for the third time that day, Jason stepped forward and peered around to where his father was pointing. He blinked in surprise. The path was small, more like a crevice, and difficult to spot unless you were looking for it. But he didn't have long to study it because he had suddenly been taken into his father's arms and felt his head resting on the older man's shoulder. Reflexively, Jason wound his arms around his father and gently squeezed him back, a smile spreading easily over his face.

"It's so good to see you again, Jason," Aeson murmured into his hair. Jason didn't quite trust his voice, so instead, he just hugged his father a little tighter before releasing him. Aeson was slower to let go, but when he felt Jason start to tug away from him, he finally did the same and stepped back, smiling. "You look well," Aeson remarked, looking on him with a mixture of pride and fondness.

That confused Jason a little: so far that day, he had done nothing for his father to be proud _of_. But still, he wouldn't argue it. Instead he said: "So do you." And it was true. Aeson's strength and vitality appeared to have increased significantly. Jason even fancied that his father's grip was stronger than the last time he had seen him.

"Now come," Aeson announced, happily. "The others are expecting you. Some, of course, remember you from when you came with your friends, but the others are anxious to meet you."

Jason tried to smile politely, but all he felt inside was mild panic. When it came to standing up for someone in need, Jason had never been afraid to stand alone. He didn't mind being counted if it was to place himself between injustice and those who could be hurt by it. There were too many times in his life, when the boy wished someone would have done the same for him. But _this_ kind of attention, Jason did anything and everything to avoid. Still, Aeson was smiling encouragingly and already had a strong hand on his forearm, tugging him along as he entered the small pathway, so that Jason was forced to either follow or fall over.

The path was narrow but mercifully short. When Aeson stepped through the other end, he moved aside, allowing his son to join him. Jason gratefully left the pathway behind him and then stared at the scene below.

A small plateau of green land, spread out beneath them, backed by trees. Along the perimeter of the land, small houses were in partial stages of construction. They were not the stone buildings of the city, but more modest wooden structures, fashioned mostly from the materials around them. A large campfire dominated a stone circle, set about with logs that served as low wooden benches. Jason guessed this was where the community could congregate. It looked…comfortable. It looked friendly. Women sat about, spinning wool and it was then that Jason noticed a small enclosure of animals: chickens; sheep; pigs.

He turned back to Aeson to see the man watching him with a knowing twinkle in his eye. The man was obviously proud of what he and his people had accomplished so far and, Jason thought, he had good reason to be.

"This place looks great," Jason said.

"Now that I can walk amongst the living with ease," Aeson explained, using his habitual metaphor of 'the living' to refer to the un-afflicted, "I have been able to barter and trade with passing merchants, for some of the materials we need." Aeson pointed to the trees. "There's a river that runs just beyond those trees. It's a bit of a trek for running water but it's closer than when we lived in the mines."

Jason looked down with curiosity at the small groups of people, helping each other to raise timber frames of houses or to weave roofs or tightly pack daub into the gaps between the woven poles of the walls. He thought he remembered the colony being slightly larger. "Is this everyone?" he wondered. Aeson shook his head.

"There are still many in the mines." He hesitated, a look of regret passing over his worn features. "For some, the mines have been their home for so long, they are reluctant to leave it. The outside world even scares them." He sighed, sadly. "They feel no place in it. No connection." Aeson ran an almost reverent hand down the side of Jason's face. "I am fortunate," he said, quietly. "Not all are blessed with the gift of children, especially those who walk among the living and still wish to converse with the dead."

Jason felt a sharp pang of both sympathy and guilt. He had never asked why his father had been cursed with the disease but he always worried that he may have played an unwitting part in it.

Jason stared at the back of the mountain. "Are they _all_ afraid to leave?"

"No." Aeson smiled once more. "But building a settlement takes time. The others are patient. They wait until resources can be gathered, buildings constructed. They join us as part of our community, even as they return to the mines to rest." Jason nodded, thoughtfully.

"It sounds good. This is a good idea, I…" Suddenly, Jason cut himself off, looking embarrassed. But Aeson's interest was piqued.

"What were you going to say?" he asked gently.

Jason gave a shy shrug. "When I was at uni, I studied engineering." He gave an awkward laugh. "I always like building things, making stuff from whatever I could find lying around, you know?" It felt strange, suddenly being free to talk when his words had been so shackled before. Was it a betrayal of the Oracles' command? For a ludicrous moment, he was afraid Aeson would be angry with him. But when he actually looked at his father, Aeson had a faraway look in his eyes and most certainly, did not appear upset.

Jason regarded him curiously, aware that people down below had begun to notice them both. "What?"

"You were always building towers of blocks and little shapes out of those…" he trailed off, trawling through his memory for a dusty word. "What were they called? They were smooth yet bumpy and one could piece them together so that they would not separate." Jason looked surprised for a moment, struggling to recall anything that he and his father might have shared. Then it dawned on him with a slowly spreading smile.

"Lego," he supplied. Aeson gasped, softly, like meeting an old friend on the street.

"Yes," he breathed. "Le-go." He rolled the word around his mouth, like a delicate flavour. Jason _tried_ to see what his father saw; tried desperately to see himself, a young child, barely more than a toddler, fumbling one clumsy Lego brick to fit on top of another. He couldn't, the memory too distant. But the young man _longed_ to see that image so badly that, for a moment, Jason _believed _that he could.

"Come, Jason," Aeson suddenly announced, snapping him back to the present. "I want to introduce you." Before the lad could even _think_ of forming a protest, Aeson had a hand on his shoulder and firm but gentle pressure was guiding him down a path towards a waiting crowd of people.

Jason tried not to gulp. Aeson had clearly made himself the leader of this small community, even if he no longer held the title of king. The last thing Jason wanted to do was to let him down, to make a poor impression. Inwardly, he tried to look like someone his father could be proud of, though he wasn't really sure what that meant.

The small group had gathered in the stone circle, around the unlit campfire and Aeson smiled as he led Jason towards it. Their faces were eager, curious. Many still hid their faces beneath the hoods of their cloaks but for those who had thrown them back, Jason saw most were around his father's age.

"Everyone!" Aeson called as they approached. "This is my son. This is Jason." It had been a very, _very_ long time since Jason had been introduced as anyone's son. That one word literally knocked the wind out of him. He swallowed hard, past the lump in his throat. However, Jason didn't have long to dwell on the torrent of emotions in his chest. Almost instantly the crowd began to push, albeit respectfully, around him. Jason instinctively pressed his arms tighter to his body, trying to smile.

The circle closed a little tighter around him and low murmurings rose amongst the people, hungry eyes soaking up the newcomer to their midst. They sounded almost _awed_. Jason cringed. It made him wonder what on Earth Aeson had _told_ them about him! The young man tried to smile and hoped it looked more genuine than it felt.

"Hello," Jason told them. He felt the people part to allow Aeson through and was immediately grateful when his father stood beside him. It wasn't that people made him nervous or even that he didn't know how to be sociable. When the situation called for it, Jason could muddle through. But no-body had ever seen the point in scrutinising him before and being held under the spotlight now was both foreign and unnerving. What could they possibly see in him? At least having his father beside him, diverted some of the attention.

One of the men in the crowd, tall with straggly shoulder-length hair, stood forwards and though he smiled at Jason, his words were clearly addressed to Aeson. "He looks a fine, strong lad." Jason felt his cheeks redden a little. Was he not standing _right there_? As much as he didn't like engaging in conversation, it felt even more awkward to simply be the topic of it while others talked around him.

But thankfully, the man then addressed him directly. "We are very glad to have you here, Jason." He paused and cast a merry eye on Aeson. "Your father has spoken of little else for some days now." Jason turned towards his father, noting with some amusement the blush that graced his features even as an indulgent smile creased his face.

"_Thank you_, Brachus," Aeson jested. "But can you blame me?" He clapped a warm hand on his son's shoulder, almost beaming with pride. Again, Jason wondered a little at it. Pride had to be earned and so far, he had done nothing to warrant it. Simply existing had never given anyone cause to feel pride for him, or indeed, to feel _anything_ for him. Jason felt the pressure begin to mount. Clearly, he would have to do something to be worthy of this.

He cleared his throat, softly. "It's, uh…it's good to be here." Then he winced. He was starting to sound as though he were giving an acceptance speech at an award's ceremony. "I mean, I'm _grateful_…well, that is, um…thanks for letting me stay." By the time Jason had awkwardly trailed off, he was looking down at his sandals and could feel the heat radiating from his face. God! Aeson wouldn't be so proud of him now, he was quite sure. Clearly, a career in public speaking was not in his cards.

A quiet chuckle had rippled across some of the group and though the intent had been fond and benign, Jason felt his heart beat a little faster as his blush intensified. He fought the urge to wrap his arms around his waist. Pasiphae had been trying to rid him of that habit during his brief stay. Until that point in time, Jason hadn't seen a problem with the comforting gesture. But now, suddenly, the dark-haired young man began to see it, see _himself_, from her perspective.

So instead, he clenched his toes and willed the inspection to be over. But the kind voice of a woman broke through the moment. "It's no trouble to have such a fine young gentleman in our company." Jason risked a look up and was met by the sight of a greying, soft woman whose warmth and kindness shone through every pore of her, blinding Jason to any physical blemishes that the disease had inflicted on her. Her pale eyes twinkled as she smiled at him and Jason returned it, cautiously.

Then the woman addressed Aeson. "But he's surely in need of a good drink. The sun is growing hotter and he's travelled a long way." She turned an expectant expression to Jason and the boy blinked in surprise. He had actually finished the last of his water hours ago and was indeed very thirsty. And now that she had mentioned it, his throat seemed as though it was lined with sandpaper and his mouth felt stuffed with cotton.

Aeson chuckled, looking around the small circle and catching the eye of the towering Brachus. Jason got the impression this woman often held court when she wanted to. "And what about the rest of us?" Aeson asked, in amusement. "Do _we_ not feel the sun, too?"

The woman straightened up and squared her shoulders, her mouth set. "_You_," she announced, surveying the crowd, "have been sitting on your backsides all morning or swanning around here, trying to look useful. This boy has been travelling since before dawn." The men laughed. Whether there was any truth to her accusations, Jason wasn't sure but no-one appeared to be taking offence.

"Now," she said, once more fixing her attention on Aeson. "Your son needs a nice rest and some refreshment before you whisk him off to do goodness knows what." She didn't wait for Aeson to respond but, instead, turned to Jason.

"Well, lad? Are you thirsty?" Jason watched, warily, as the crowd around him began to disperse, shaking their heads in amusement and muttering to each other about having to _get back to it_. Jason was relieved to see them go but began to feel uncomfortable when he saw his father start to move away with them, joining the man, Brachus as they both headed towards, what looked like, a carpenter's workshop where piles of wood lay, amongst saws and hammers.

The young man hesitated. "I don't want you to go to any trouble," he began, even though his thirst was now screaming at him to quench it.

But the woman waved a dismissive hand. "What hardship can it be when the jugs of mead are right over there?" she asked, lightly, indicating a small dwelling near the borders of some trees where a low table and some stools sat outside, bowls of covered food and jugs resting on the tables. Finally, Jason nodded:

"That's very kind of you. Thank you." He allowed himself to be led away to the table and gratefully sank down onto one of the benches. The shade of the trees was like a balmy delight and a cooling breeze suddenly wafted through the leaves, easing the burn on his face. A moment later, a cup was pressed into his hand.

"There you go. Drink up."

Jason had taken two long gulps, swallowing the cooling liquid with fervour before he realised he hadn't even said _thank you_. The young man turned shy eyes towards his host and gave her an embarrassed smile. "Thank you," he said, the hint of an apology in his tone. Then, with a note of mild alarm, Jason noted his head swam and he had to remind himself that mead was not water. And this was _good_ mead.

The woman was looking at him, carefully. "My name is Myrtle," she told him. Jason nodded as he forced himself to drink more slowly.

"It's very good to meet you," he said, quietly but sincerely. Gesturing to his cup, he added: "And thank you for this. I didn't realise how much I needed it."

Myrtle shook her head, fondly. "Those men," she began. "Honestly. They _mean_ well but they share the common sense between them, sometimes." Jason chuckled and Myrtle gave him a knowing wink. "And there's a lot of them it needs to go round."

For the first time in a while, Jason grinned. "My friends would probably say the same about me."

"So at least you know you take after your father."

Jason felt his heart warm a little at that. With smaller sips, he gratefully finished his drink and set the cup back onto the table.

Suddenly, Myrtle began to push herself up standing. Immediately, Jason rose too but she held out a hand to stop him. "No. You sit there and rest in the shade a little longer," she insisted. "I have some work to do here but don't mind me." Jason glanced down to where she was indicating. A pile of raw sheep's wool lay in large baskets to one side of her and, to the other side, a basket of newly spun woollen thread.

Jason hesitated. He had once been to a farm on a school trip where they had demonstrated old-fashioned methods of spinning wool. He vaguely recalled having to brush the wool and then spin the wool round and round in the air on the end of this…_little, wooden spinning thing_. He hadn't been very good at it and had severely lacked the necessary patience. However, he found himself asking:

"Do you want a hand?" She looked up at him in pleased surprise. Immediately then, Jason added. "I'm not very good with wool…_things_." He trailed off, quite helplessly and the matronly woman couldn't help but laugh.

"Do not worry. Do you have steady hands?"

Jason blinked in confusion. "Yes."

"Then you may help me immensely." Jason grinned and relaxed, pleased to have a purpose that he could, once more, identify.

* * *

By the time Jason had left Myrtle's hut, he was well rested and his thirst was gone. He met Aeson near the stone circle. The afternoon was starting to draw on to evening and preparations were under way to get the campfire ready to light. Piles of wood were being transported from log piles, to the site and two men carefully laid them out. Aeson sat on one of the nearby log benches and looked up when he saw Jason approach, greeting him with a smile.

"So I see Myrtle had you busy," he commented. Jason laughed.

"If helping with a chore just means sitting there while she winds wool around my hands, I can cope with that!"

Aeson stood and placed a hand on his shoulder. "And it keeps you out of trouble," he remarked, wryly. Jason laughed again. "Now, Jason – would you like to take a look at the place?" Eagerly, Jason nodded and followed as Aeson walked away from the enclosure of small buildings and into the forests.

As they walked, Aeson pointed out the newest features of their small community: the animals they were beginning to breed; the small, cultivated patches for vegetables and corn; water troughs they had built to allow people to gather water closer to their homes.

Jason soaked it all in, all the time both marvelling at their resourcefulness and thinking of ways to help improve their situation. There were little things he could construct that would improve their building techniques or their means for gathering water. But he didn't want to suggest things that weren't his place to do so. Most of the people they passed seemed happy, contented to go about their daily jobs and often waved a greeting as they went by. For some, the evidence of their affliction was more obvious than others and Jason found himself wondering if, during his very brief stay in the twentieth century, Aeson had known there was a cure for leprosy. Jason didn't think so and, for just a moment, he considered broaching the topic. But then he quickly realised that without even the faintest clue what that cure consisted of, nor the medical science to bring it about, raising that particular topic would be unspeakably cruel. And so Jason kept his silence and instead, turned his thoughts back to Aeson and their tour.

After a good walk, they ended up on the banks of a wildly flowing river and sat, enjoying the afternoon sun.

"This river is good for fish," Aeson said, "a little further up where it opens out a little and the waters are calmer." Jason followed where he pointed and nodded, thoughtfully. With the proper channels dug into the earth, coupled with the slightly downward tilt of the land, part of this river could be diverted to flow nearer the farm land. His mind began to run scenarios until Aeson drew him back to the present.

"So what do you think of it?"

"It's amazing," Jason said, reiterating his earlier sentiments but meaning every word of it.

Aeson smiled. "You were thinking, just then," he pointed out, wheedling his son. Jason immediately looked embarrassed.

"It's nothing," he insisted, suddenly feeling awkward. After all, who was _he_, a stranger to their community, a stranger to _Atlantis_, to start making suggestions for something they knew a hell of a lot more about? He stared at the gushing, gurgling water and the smooth rocks beneath the surface that jutted through in places, willing his father to let the matter drop.

"I would like to hear your opinion," Aeson continued, gently. Jason shrugged, still looking at the water. But he could feel his father's eyes still fixed on him, still quietly waiting for an answer.

"I was just thinking that, while I'm here, I'd like to help." He looked over to Aeson. "To help with the building and plans and things," he clarified. "I don't want to interfere," he added, hastily, "but I'd like to be useful."

Aeson nodded, his eyes shining. "And you have ideas of your own." His son immediately blushed and tried to protest. However, Aeson cut in. "I would be honoured to build this community with your help, Jason. _And_ with your ideas." He turned his son's head to face him. "There is no-one whose judgement I would value more."

Jason was, for a moment, speechless. His throat constricted, painfully. What if he screwed up? A university course was one thing. It was theory, experimental. This was people's _lives_ and his father's expectations and _no-one_ had ever placed so much store in his own abilities. Not even the Oracle who seemed to look at him with the expectation that he was somehow meant to save the entire world!

The boy gulped. "I'll help any way I can," he said. "I just don't want to let you down." Aeson ran a hand down one side of his face.

"You won't. We are the same, Jason – cut from the same cloth." He sighed, contentedly. "I look at you and I see myself at your age: so young, so full of promise. You have far to go, Jason and I always had every faith that you would turn out the way that you have – the way that you _are_."

Jason simply nodded and, for a long while, both men fell silent, staring in to the clear, rushing water and letting the world around them pass by in its own dreamy haze. It was peaceful and still, but like the river, Jason felt something fast-flowing beneath the surface.

His lips began to press together and his youthful forehead creased into a frown as that something pushed and squirmed its way upwards.

"You may as well say it, Jason."

Jason started at the first sound of a human voice re-entering their environment. "What do you mean?"

Aeson smiled and shook his head. "You are not very good at concealing your emotions," he pointed out. "I can tell there is something on your mind. You may as well tell me what it is." Beside him, he saw his son shift uncomfortably even as his frown deepened.

Jason took a deep breath and released it, slowly. He had made up his mind not to say anything, convinced that it would only create bad blood between them – that he would push away the man he had been searching for all of his life. But now, seeing his father's determined expression, the boy decided that silence wasn't helping, either.

"I just wanted to know…I mean, I wondered," he began, haltingly. Then he took another breath and looked Aeson square in the eyes. "Why did you have your day contracted in to Pasiphae's agreement?" And now that he had spoken the words, the tiny spark of anger reignited itself inside his chest, giving him the fire he needed to continue. "I mean, Pasiphae, I could understand." He gave a short laugh. "It's not like I'm _happy_ about it, but I _get_ why she did it, in this really twisted kind of way. There's no way in hell I'd want to spend time with her unless she found a way to _make me_ do it."

So far, Aeson held his gaze but said nothing. A slight narrowing of one eye was the only indication that Jason's words were registering and Jason suspected it was more in response to his mild cursing than it was to his meaning.

"I would have seen _you_ on my own," Jason insisted. "I can't promise it would have been _every_ week but I would have seen you on my own accord." The boy's expression turned from hard and accusatory to hurt: "I mean, I spent my _life_ searching for you. Growing up, nothing was the same when I didn't know what had happened to you – _nothing_. You didn't need to _force me_ to come! It feels…" He broke off suddenly and turned his head away from his father, hands clenching by his sides. "I don't know _what_ it feels exactly. But I'd like to think you could have trusted me more." Jason sighed and bowed his head. "I think you owed me that much."

For a moment, Aeson was silent. He sat on the river bank and regarded the boy carefully. After, what felt to Jason, like a life time he shook his head, sadly. "I'm sorry you feel I don't trust you, Jason. That was never my intention. But you don't understand your mother. Not like I do." Despite his own misgivings, Jason listened carefully.

"You're young and you know little of the depths a woman like her is capable of sinking to. You know little of the harsh realities of Atlantis and the world you now find yourself in."

Jason bit his tongue – he'd had a _damned quick_ crash course in the _harsh realities_ of Atlantis from the moment he stumbled into the city and straight into the maze of the Minotaur. But tensions were high enough without drawing out an explanation into an argument.

"Trust me, my son. If I had not taken measures to secure our meetings, she would have found a means to prevent it from ever happening." His gaze bore in to Jason. "You must never let your guard down around her. She will try to manipulate you at every turn – to control your actions and warp your thinking." Even as his father's sincerity shone through, Jason could not help but feel confused – even a little offended.

"I'm not _that easy_ to manipulate!" he protested. "_Or_ to control."

However, far from swaying his father, Jason's irritation only grew as he saw his father smile indulgently at him, as if pacifying a toddler. "I know this is difficult for you to understand at the moment. But believe me, you will understand soon enough." The older man paused and regarded Jason cautiously. "How have things been?" he asked. "With her? Has she…_done_ anything yet?"

For a second, Jason fought to suppress the nearly overwhelming urge to snap that he was not an infant and that he had a fully-functioning mind and will of his own. God help him, even _Pasiphae_ saw that much!

His father's last question finally resonated with him. "_No_," he ground out. "She's been fine. Staying there has been _fine_." Not that it was strictly true, of course. Jason had _hated_ his three days at the Palace, with the exception of seeing Ariadne and, aside from his home in the city, he much preferred to be with his father than with his mother. He didn't even _think_ of her as his mother and it was only Minos who referred to her with that title. But right then, in that moment, he'd be damned if he told the old man that! Besides, it didn't appear that Aeson required any further ammunition against his ex-wife and Jason did not wish to add fuel to that particular fire.

So, instead, he let the matter drop, determined that if Aeson were to bring it up again, he would either change the subject or point-blank refuse to answer. However, his father simply nodded. There was, however, a definite air of disappointment shrouding the man and Jason surmised that his instincts had been correct in not indulging his father's private war. But for all that, Aeson _did_ let it go.

"Come," Aeson suddenly announced. "They will be lighting the fire for the evening meal soon and we should be there."

Jason nodded, silently and rose to his feet. Inside, he felt the first tiny pricks of disappointment. They niggled away at his brain as he followed his father back to the enclosure. However, as he walked, Jason firmly pushed them aside. Growing up, he had placed the man on a pedestal. _Stop being unfair on the man_, he told himself as he trudged along the forest path. _No relationship is going to be as perfect as the one you've imagined your whole life. It's time to grow up and focus on the good._

Suddenly, ahead of him, Aeson paused and turned to look back at him. "Are you alright, Jason? You're very quiet." His father's eyes were bright and warm, crinkling at the edges as he regarded him, closely.

And Jason felt himself honestly smile back. "Yes," he assured him. "I'm fine."

* * *

Hercules, Jason thought, would have been impressed with the meal they ate that night. It seemed the colony's cooking skills had not diminished from their last stay. As they ate around the fire, Jason had listened in companionable silence as stories were told, jokes made and day-to-day life discussed. Mercifully, he was spared any further attention from the group and he had listened with rapt awe to the tales of old times and of distant heroes. Aeson, Jason realised, did not say much either. Perhaps that was another thing they had in common.

When night fell, those who still dwelt in the mines said their goodnights and went their separate ways. Those in the settlements gradually made their own ways to their houses. Jason returned their goodnights a little awkwardly, glad when Aeson inclined his head, gesturing for Jason to follow him away from the dispersing crowd.

They were heading, Jason noted, to the largest of the dwellings: a long, rectangular structure that appeared more _finished_ than many of the others. A cloth woven from many bright colours, hung from the front of the door. It demarcated the building, Jason realised – made it _more_ than those around it. Had Aeson made it himself? The boy doubted it. A gift then? His sign of leadership? Jason wasn't sure, but it occurred to him that it was not as easy for his father to give up power as he would like them to believe.

Aeson held the door for Jason and Jason passed by him, ducking his head slightly at the low door-frame. Once inside, he had to blink to adjust his eyes to the lack of light. Aeson closed the door behind them and immediately moved to the side where he lit some lamps. The warm glow spread across the room, revealing a modest but comfortable space.

Jason smiled to himself: it reminded him of Hercules' house. A bed that was obviously Aeson's stood along one wall with a small table near it. "I hope you don't mind," his father said, coming to stand beside him and to hand him one of the lamps. "I thought it would be easier if you shared with me but if you prefer, we can find you separate lodgings on your next visit? But for now, you have a bed in the corner over there."

He pointed to the far corner of the room and Jason followed his direction. A smaller bed, a table and a small screen filled the space. A soft rug of, what looked like fur or wool – Jason couldn't be sure from where he stood - lay by the bed. The little section looked…comfortable. Unlike his room at the Palace, Jason could see a time, when he could think of this little alcove as _his_, at least while he stayed in the colony. Certainly, the idea of them building an entire structure just for his one day a week was out of the question and, at the moment, the thought of bunking down with anyone other than his father made him uneasy. He turned and grinned at Aeson: "It looks great: thank you." A yawn suddenly escaped him and Jason couldn't help the stretch that accompanied it.

Aeson laughed, softly as Jason gave a bashful shrug. "Sorry. Didn't realise how tired I was."

His father placed a warm hand on his back. "You've had a busy day," he pointed out. "And you must be up early tomorrow morning. You had best get some rest now." Aeson's words suddenly reminded Jason of the favour he needed to ask. But sleep was calling to him and, despite his father's loving nature, Jason felt inexplicably nervous. Letting his apprehension sway him from his course, he decided it could wait until the morning.

"I think you're right," he chuckled. "Thank you for today; for making me feel like a part of this place."

"Jason," Aeson said, seriously, "you _are_ a part of here. You are a part of _me_, wherever I go. You mustn't ever forget that." The older man placed his hands on his son's shoulders and gave them a gentle squeeze. Jason stared down at his feet and nodded, unsure of what to say. He _wanted_ to return the sentiment – it just felt…_alien_. Then his father pulled him in to a light embrace before releasing him. "Goodnight, Jason."

"Goodnight," the boy returned. Aeson walked over to a small chair and pulled it over to his table, taking out what looked like building plans and spreading them out, next to the lamp. Jason assumed that meant his father was staying up for a little while longer but for himself, he was done.

As soon as he was behind his little screen, he pulled off his shoes and tunic and all but melted under the covers. Exhaustion claimed him quickly and Jason did not wake again until morning.

* * *

Not many were up when Aeson shook Jason by the shoulder to rouse him. Being met by an irritated, groggy grumbling had only made his father laugh. "Not a lot changes," he had remarked wryly, tugging the pillow from his son's face and eliciting another disgruntled squawk from the dark-haired lad.

Eventually, however, Jason had pulled himself from his incredibly comfy bed, hastily washed and dressed and then half stumbled outside to meet his father who had been waiting there for some time. How strange it felt, to wake in the morning and see his father. Such an act of normality that all of his school friends, bar those unlucky few, had experienced every day, had never questioned. It was a memory Jason could not recall – faded images, ghosting in and out of his dreams: nothing more. But now – now it was a reality once more. Jason did not think, standing there in the darkness of that new morning, that he would ever take this simple act for granted.

"Good morning. You look a little less likely to fall asleep on me now."

"Morning. Sorry about that – mornings are still difficult without caffeine." Aeson narrowed his eyes slightly but Jason just laughed: "Coffee? Doesn't matter. I'm up now."

"Do you have the torch I left by your bed?" Aeson asked, as he approached.

"Yes, thanks. I saw it." It was safely stowed in his bag.

"I hope you've enjoyed your time here."

"Yes," Jason answered. "Very much." His pulse began to quicken. He was almost ready to leave and the time was closing in. Aeson would understand – his father had shown him that he loved him and wanted him to be well. But still, Jason hated to ask for favours – to ask for _anything_: it made him look weak; it put him under somebody else's control but more than anything, he was letting someone down – someone he had made a promise to. He _hated_ it. But this was his _father_ and of that crucial fact, Jason forced himself to remember.

"I was wondering," he began. He watched Aeson watch him, curiously.

"Wondering what, son?" Without the torch lit, the darkness felt unnerving.

Jason licked his lips. He let his bag slip to the ground by his feet and his arms instinctively wove their way around his chest. "I was wondering, if the next time I come here, I could arrive a little later? Maybe, set off when it's dawn? Or maybe arrive by midday, but make it…every other week instead?" He paused and waited for his father to speak, but Aeson remained watching him. Jason's fingers began to play with the hem of his sleeves. "It's just…it's a bit further than I remembered – the journey here and getting up that _early_…well…" He trailed off, searching his father's face for the understanding he was looking for - for Aeson to pick up the ball, take the lead and finish his story for him.

Eventually, Aeson did turn to face him but what Jason saw, made him go suddenly cold. Far from the concerned understanding he had been hoping for, Aeson's eyes were hard, his expression as cold as Jason felt.

"I see," the man began, his voice low and quiet, disappointment clearly evident. "I will admit, I did not realise how much of an inconvenience these meetings would be for you. How much of a _burden_."

On hearing those words, the bottom dropped out of Jason's stomach and he was filled with horror. "_No_! No…" he stuttered. "I _never_ meant…"

But his father swept on, his cool gaze pinning Jason to the spot. "Perhaps it is that you and I judge hardship and burden by different measures." Jason felt shame, white hot, burning his face. His breathing came out harsher, faster than he would have liked. All he could do was stare at his father in disbelief.

"But as your father, it is my duty to alleviate your burden." Aeson's voice was hard and quiet: it was a voice that Jason found he did not recognise. Unable to speak, Jason bowed his head and willed the conversation to be over, wishing like anything that he could turn back the clock and have never brought up such a misguided request in the first place! Every ounce of him wanted to disappear into the ground beneath his feet, if only his father would stop _looking_ at him that way!

"Therefore, I would suggest that if you need more sleep to be better rested for your journey that you retire to bed at an earlier time the night before." Jason barely nodded and instead concentrated on not crying in-front of the man he had so clearly disappointed.

"And that if you require more time with your _friends_, you take it out of the three days that Pasiphae has, rather than the _one_ that I have."

Jason swallowed hard against the painful lump in his throat, willing the stinging in his eyes to remain just as it was and not to progress to the next stage. He pressed his lips together tightly and managed another nod. Aeson's taut posture relaxed just a little, an air of sadness enshrouding him.

"You have signed an _agreement_, Jason and I am not an unreasonable man, in expecting you to honour it." He sighed and took a small step backwards. Jason watched him move and _prayed_ that meant the conversation was over. It had been a long time, a very long time since he had felt so humiliated and devastated at the same time and all he wanted to do was to crawl away to a place where no-one knew of his shame and pretend it never happened.

"I know," he choked out. "Sorry. I will."

Aeson nodded. He turned his head to look towards the ashes of last night's fire. "Breakfast will not be ready for some hours yet but we can find you something from last night's…"

But Jason quickly shook his head. "_No_. Thank you. It's alright. I need to make a start."

The very _last_ thing he wanted to do, after such humiliation and disappointing his father, was to hang around any longer and on top of _all_ of it, make the man forage around for food for him! He didn't _deserve_ any! God, how could he have misjudged the situation _so badly_? With a bitter realisation, Jason came to understand that as well meaning as his friends were, he should have listened to his own gut.

"Then I wish you a safe journey back to the city." Aeson didn't exactly smile at him, though his words and expression both sounded and looked sincere.

And so, without the fond parting Jason had been expecting when he woke that morning, he climbed the ascent that would lead to the crevice path.

* * *

That's it for now folks! Thanks for reading this far. Please let me know if you enjoyed it, for what it was worth. :-)


	4. Chapter 4

The Road Ahead

Standard disclaimer applies.

Thank you very much for your kind reviews and to _Angel_ – don't worry – I love the Jason/Pasiphae mother and son relationship so there will be plenty more of it in the story!

I hope people enjoy this chapter.

Chapter 4

"Watch out!"

Hercules had only just walked in to his home when the urgent cry sounded from above him. The man looked up just in time to see a jar of herbs, a cleaning rag and a mathematician come tumbling towards him. With reflexes that he thought had long since diminished, he ducked one, ignored the other and caught the last before he could hit the ground, staggering backwards under the force.

Scowling, the big man righted himself and, with a gesture that was more gentle than it appeared, pushed the skinny young man away from him. His hands rested on the blonde's shoulders for a moment as he glared at him.

"Just what in the name of Hades are you doing?" he demanded, in exasperation. Once he was sure the young genius was steady on his feet, Hercules removed his hands and placed them on his own broad hips, instead. Honestly, he had only been gone an hour! Pythagoras took a moment to take stock of his unharmed status and breathed a sigh of relief. A wide, easy grin spread over his face and Hercules inwardly sighed. It was impossible to be cross with his young friend when Pythagoras had decided that all was right with the world.

"Thank you for your assistance," the boy began, brightly. "I was just dusting on top of the shelves when I appear to have become a little unstable." Hercules raised his bushy eyebrows and looked over to where a rickety ladder was propped up against the side of the bookshelf. The older man winced when he saw the splintered state of the frame and the loosened joins of some of the rungs. He had been meaning to fix that thing for a long time now. Trust Pythagoras to get to it before he'd had a chance to. A bit of guilt elbowed its way into his annoyance.

"Cleaning?" Hercules asked. He spun round on one foot, eyes sweeping the nearly immaculate house. "Cleaning _what_, exactly? You make Jason and I take our shoes off when we come in from the balcony! There's nothing here that needs it."

But Pythagoras shook his head, earnestly. "Jason is still gone for another three days and I'm taking advantage of the extra space and the lack of weaponry lying about and clothes piled onto the floor, to really give this place a thorough going over." His eyes were nearly gleaming and Hercules didn't bother hiding his groan. Regardless of his friend's less than enthused reaction, Pythagoras continued: "There are lots of places that haven't been touched in years."

"Like the top of the shelves?" Hercules asked.

"Exactly."

"Where we spend, oh so many happy evenings?"

His young friend rolled his eyes, good-naturedly. Expecting Hercules to understand his need for cleanliness had never been something that had entered his mind. "_And_ the cupboards," Pythagoras continued. "And while this place is being properly cleaned, we could do with that table leg being mended as well." He fixed a pointed look on the burly man who, in turn, shifted uncomfortably.

"You've been promising to do it for weeks and I can't tell you how difficult it is to draw straight lines, even with a ruler, when the surface keeps dipping one way or another."

Triangles, however, would never soften the older man's resolve. He snorted.

"So work on the floor then," he exclaimed. "As far as I'm aware, the floor stays exactly where it is."

Pythagoras smirked at him. "That it does and I suppose I _could_ work on the floor. However, not only does the table affect my triangles, it also means your drink is in danger of spilling, too. There have been several times when you have almost lost a jar of wine." He paused. "Now, I realise you usually _end up_ drinking on the floor, but you do at least try to _start_ at the table."

Hercules tried to look affronted. "Oh ha, ha," he drawled. But the boy had a good point. He _really should_ look at that leg before he lost a flagon of the good stuff. "Alright. I'll sort it out." He pointed a finger at him. "But you need to be more careful. I won't be following you around to catch you all the time!" He scowled at Pythagoras in, what he hoped, was admonishment. Inwardly, however, it was a blatant lie: he would _always_ be following the lad, catching him when he fell and he was all too aware of it, as was Pythagoras. He would be there for _both_ of those boys. That appeared to be his Fate - his purpose. And if _one_ of those boys was currently making that more difficult for him to accomplish than the other….well, didn't that just make it a challenge? A grim determination washed over the burly man.

Duly serious, Pythagoras nodded. "I will," he promised. "No harm can come to me when cleaning the cupboards."

His older friend harrumphed. "Unless we have rats that spring out at you," he muttered, before turning away from the young man and wandering over to the kitchen. He left Pythagoras, wide-eyed and horrified as images of sharp teeth and long tails flooded his fertile mind.

Gulping down the panic of ghastly possibilities, Pythagoras followed him, secretly wondering how badly Hercules would object if he were to bring home a cat. A very big cat. "So where have you been then?" he asked, hoping his voice did not betray his thoughts.

He watched the older man rummage around in the jars for some olives. "I have been at the tavern," he informed him, sparing him a quick glance. Pythagoras frowned, even if he didn't look surprised.

"I thought you were going to try and be more responsible with your drinking," he pointed out, arms folded across his scrawny chest. But Hercules shook his head in aggrieved defensiveness.

"_No_," he protested, knowing full well this would be his friend's response. "Not _drinking_. Well," he amended after a quick moment, "not _much_. I've been securing a job."

"A job?" Pythagoras immediately became suspicious. Hercules and _jobs_ never went together harmoniously.

"Yes! A job. Why is that so difficult to believe? It's a simple case of protecting some merchandise."

The young man groaned. "_Again_? When has protecting merchandise _ever_ ended up being simple?" he demanded. "Do you know how many angry merchants we now have to run from because you allowed their goods to be stolen or eaten or you ended up drinking it yourself?" Hercules opened his mouth to reply but Pythagoras kept on talking. "And for that matter, do you know how many _others_ I have paid off to keep them from adding to the list?" But even as he shook his head, already imagining the impending disaster, Hercules held up placating hands.

"Calm down. This is different. I know the merchant. He's a good man and it's only for a couple of days." He smiled at the boy, suddenly serious. "I'll be fine."

Pythagoras finally relented with a sigh. "I suppose so." He paused. "Do you need any help?" Hercules chuckled, though not unkindly. They both knew that when it came to guarding things, Pythagoras was not the first person on anyone's list. But the young man who _would have been_ Hercules' natural choice was not in a position to help.

"I'll be _fine_," the older man repeated, neither one mentioning their absent friend. Neither one needed to. Fixing a smile on his face once more, Pythagoras nodded.

"Good. I shall return to my cleaning then."

"Excellent. I'm going to lie down before I start work," Hercules announced. He put down the, now empty, jar of olives and started to head towards his room. "Try not to wake me with all your crashing about."

Absently, the blonde man nodded as Hercules disappeared to his bed. He looked around the empty house and noted, with dismay, the thickening piles of dust on his newly polished surfaces. The ladder still limped against the shelves, swapping condolences with their wonky table.

It really was a very odd little house.

With a heavy sigh, he went to retrieve his fallen cleaning rag and sweep up the broken jar of herbs. Hercules had his job; he had his cleaning. Pythagoras couldn't blame either of them for their little distractions. He fancied he heard a quiet rustling sound from behind him and immediately shuddered, picturing the very depths of those cupboards.

Perhaps a big cat with a very aggressive policy towards rodents?

* * *

By the time Jason dragged his feet through the palace doors his muscles were trembling and he felt his tunic clinging uncomfortably to his body, with sweat. Passing by the guards, Jason paused in the entrance hall and leaned against the white marble walls until the pounding in his head and the ringing in his ears had rescinded a little. He counted his heart beats, heavy in his chest and breathed deeply. Eventually, the hammering evened out to a gentle thud. His muscles however, continued to shake and Jason cursed his body.

Sounds of faint conversation echoed from the dining hall, off one of the adjoining corridors and servants scuttled in and out with jars of wine and trays of delicacies. The sight of the carefully arranged plates of food suddenly struck the boy with how long ago he had last eaten. His hunger surprised him. However, the thought of being seated round that table, ducking the odd imperious glance or circumventing an awkward remark was more than Jason could stand.

With a sudden jolt, Jason remembered Minos' warning. He let out a low chuckle. The very last thing he needed right now was to be on the end of another lecture on appearances. A few of the servants cast odd glances in his direction as he passed into the inner sanctums of the Palace and up to the staircase that would lead him to his room. Jason felt a little sorry for them and, it had to be said, a little amused. Word of his transition into the Royal family was unevenly spreading and there were still many guards and servants who looked at him with apprehensive, confused expressions unsure whether his presence was to be reported or not.

Mercifully, no one challenged him and Jason quickly arrived at his room, flung open the door and threw his bag onto the floor. It landed just by his bed which, Jason noted, had been made up since his last departure and a bowl of fresh fruit sat on the nearby table. Jason sighed heavily and ran his palms over the smooth, pristine bedcovers. It was all very nice, he supposed. But it was like coming back to a hotel rather than his home.

Jason sunk down onto the mattress. True, mattresses didn't bounce like he still half expected them to, but it was nevertheless a welcome relief for his aching feet and calf muscles. Absently, Jason leaned down and fiddled with the straps of his sandals until they were lose enough for him to half prise, half kick off with his toes.

As soon as his feet were free from the leather that had been starting to rub at his abused heels, Jason let out a loud, contented sigh of relief and lay back on the bed with a flop. For a moment, he closed his eyes and stretched his body out, arching his back a little to the sound of tiny pops along his spine. The room was cool, a light breeze blowing in through the balcony doors. It took Jason a second or so longer to realise that the doors had now been unlocked. The boy nestled himself a little more snugly into the soft bed-coverings feeling as though he could just melt right into the middle of the bed and not get up again for a week.

A soft rapping on the door suddenly drew Jason's attention. Instantly, he sat up, muscles tensing. He really wasn't in the mood to see _anybody_ but whoever it was, couldn't stand out there all day. "Come in," he called out, cautiously. The door began to open with a measured calmness: everyone around here, Jason thought, completed every sentence, every action with such practised precision that it made him feel positively impetuous and clumsy.

A light breeze suddenly picked up the thin curtains and with it, Jason caught the scent of delicate flowers and oils wafting in to the room: a perfume that suited its owner perfectly. An almost giddy grin spread over his face. He did not think he would ever get used to the fact that she was here, residing within the very rooms that he was. Ariadne's slender arm appeared from behind the door and she stepped through into his room, a moment later. Jason soaked up the sight of the girl as she stood for a moment, a shy smile gently lighting her face.

"I heard you were home," Ariadne told him softly, her hands clasped somewhat awkwardly in front of her. Something about the way she stood, watching him, being observed herself made her seem so endearing, a little vulnerable and more striking than Jason could ever recall. His heart caught in his throat as he stood to meet her.

"You look beautiful," he responded.

She laughed, faintly blushing. "That is very kind of you, Jason. But you do not need to say this every time you see me."

"Yes, I do."

The open, raw honesty in which those words were spoken, gave Ariadne the most beautiful ache in the centre of her chest. Jason crossed the room to stand opposite her, his lopsided smile disarming her further. He took her hand in one of his own and held her fingers with the lightest of touches. "Because it's true, every time I see you," Jason continued, "and I never want to take that for granted."

Tiny pulses of fire seemed to leap between their fingertips and Ariadne wondered a little at the speed of her heartbeat. "You need not," she told him as a shiver ran down her spine. One step closer and she felt his warm breath falling gently from above her. The princess ran her fingers over the hand that held hers. "I've missed you," she murmured. Then she turned her face upwards, eyes saying what her voice could not and though the forbidden kiss they shared was chaste and oh, so brief, it left her lips tingling and her face glowing.

Jason pulled away from her, reluctantly, his breath still warm on her face. "You shouldn't be here," he mumbled, even as he ran a gentle thumb down one side of her face. He forced himself to take a step back. Pulling away from this girl was never an easy thing to do and Jason reminded himself that this closeness they now enjoyed, came at a price.

But Ariadne just raised her chin and gave him one of her slightly imperious, devilish smiles, reminding him firmly that she was still a princess of Atlantis. "I am willing to take the risk," she told him, a slightly mischievous smile playing at the corner of her mouth. On seeing it, Jason just laughed softly and shook his head.

"I don't want you to get into any trouble," he reiterated but it was clear she would not be dissuaded.

"Did you miss me?" she asked and once more, Jason laughed.

"I have to be honest: the Palace is a great place but if it wasn't for the thought of you, living inside it, I would have given in to the temptation to take a different route through the city and just divert to Hercules' house instead of coming here." He sighed and shook his head. "You're the only bright part of my life here." Jason smiled at her again before moving to sit down on the chair, by his table. Ariadne frowned.

"I know this is not the life you are accustomed to, but is there nothing else that you can be happy about here?" She gave him an entreating look. "I know he comes across as severe at times and I know you have your cause to be wary of him, but I promise you that my father is a good man, once you get to know him."

Jason smiled and shook his head again. "Don't mind me," he said. "I'm pretty good at adapting to new places. I'll figure something out. I just like to moan once in a while!"

"You will find your place here," Ariadne announced, firmly. "I am sure of it. It's where you belong."

"Ariadne?"

Both of them turned at the sound of the queen's voice, standing just a few feet from them, Jason from where he still sat and Ariadne from where she stood opposite him. The girl's mouth hung open in surprise, as did Jason's and if it wasn't a breach of the king's orders, Pasiphae would have found their startled reactions quite amusing.

As it was, she fixed a meaningful look on her step-daughter who, despite attempting to appear aloof, could not quite conceal her blush. "You should not be here, Ariadne," Pasiphae said quietly, aware that reproaching her step-daughter was something she must tread more carefully around now.

At once, Jason leapt to his feet, angling his body towards the queen. "It's my fault," he insisted but the girl shot him a purposeful look.

Then she turned to Pasiphae and raised her chin, defiantly. "I am responsible for my own choices," she informed the waiting queen, tautly, "and I accept whatever consequences come from them, gladly." Her eyes fixed on Pasiphae's and glinted, with a hint of danger. Jason almost gulped – the tension in the room was electric. However, Pasiphae merely held the girl's glare a moment longer before smiling a tiny, hard smile.

She took a slow step towards the girl. Her voice was low and quiet. "And very noble sentiments they are. But has it not occurred to you, that it would not be _you_ who would be made to suffer if Minos were to discover you in Jason's room?" The queen paused and this time, there was no disguising the hardness in either her tone _or_ her expression. "I did not think you _that_ naive."

If Pasiphae felt the urge to gloat at the sudden flicker of fear in Ariadne's dark eyes, she held that urge in check with remarkable control. Immediately, Ariadne turned to Jason, her expression both afraid and guilty. "I'm sorry," she murmured, even as Jason shook his head to tell her not to worry. "I did not think. I just wanted to see you."

"I'm glad you did," Jason insisted. He took her hand once more, causing his mother to sigh and roll her eyes though she did at least half turn away from them. "And I'll see you soon?" She smiled at him.

"Perhaps by the fountain in the courtyard," she said.

"When?"

At that moment, Pasiphae interrupted, impatiently: "Can we possibly arrange the particulars of this later?" She strode to the, still opened door, and indicated the way out in a non-too subtle gesture. Jason narrowed his eyes at the way Ariadne was being dismissed but Ariadne herself simply gave his hand one last squeeze before she floated past her step-mother, with barely a sideways glance.

Once she was gone, Pasiphae closed the door and turned to face her scowling son.

"Ah," she announced, a wry smile on her face. "There is that particular knot between your eyes that I have missed _so_ much in the last four days." For a moment, Jason's scowl only intensified before he realised that it was quite wearisome maintaining his displeasure and made an effort to wipe the dark mood from his face.

He sighed and sat back down on the bed. "Did you want something?" he asked. Pasiphae came to sit opposite him, on his recently vacated chair.

"This may be difficult for you to believe, but I primarily came to welcome you back and to see how your time away has been." Jason looked up at his mother. Her eyes seemed…honest. He sighed. At the moment, his anger and resentment were doing him little good. A sudden memory of the twisted, bitter man his father showed whenever he spoke of his former life, flashed into Jason's mind. Jason wasn't sure he liked the man that Aeson became when his anger overtook him and the thought that he might actually travel down the same path, made Jason inwardly shudder. Somewhere deep inside, the young man made a conscious effort to let the anger go – just a little – and when he did, he was amazed at how the pain in his chest began to lessen.

"It's been fine thanks," he mumbled, awkwardly. The faintest hint of surprise coloured Pasiphae's eyes for a moment.

"I am glad to hear it." She suddenly looked appraisingly at him and Jason glanced up, shifting a little uncomfortably. "You look tired," she said, her voice sounding suspicious. Jason shrugged and glanced away, still unsure whether something like that would even _matter_ to her.

"Is the journey too much for you?"

The question startled him and Jason looked up at her, unable to keep the surprise from his face. Immediately, her eyes became knowing and she nodded, almost to herself.

"It_ is_ a long way. When did you set off?"

Jason hesitated a moment but the queen's expression was cautionary and resolved: _lying_ would be detected, he was suddenly sure of it and it would _not_ be well received. "A couple of hours before dawn," he answered, watching her face carefully for those tiny shifts in expression that might give him a clue as to what she was thinking. Well, they might if he knew her well enough. But he was learning, slowly.

Pasiphae's eyes darkened and became a little more distant. Was she angry? Jason wondered. He mentally sighed: the last thing he needed was to be thrown into the middle of another argument between his warring parents again, one blaming the other. Did she think Aeson was going to back down? Jason almost gave a bitter laugh: because she'd be sorely wrong on that one!

Suddenly, Pasiphae reached her decision: "You should not set out before dawn. That path is not safe. The next time you visit your father, rise with everyone else and leave after breakfast. You may arrive here later." She levelled a firm look at him: "I would expect you to travel without delay or diversion and, in so doing, I would imagine that you could arrive here some hours before the evening meal." Pasiphae raised an eyebrow on the stunned young man. "Does that seem feasible to you?"

For a second, Jason just gaped, unsure whether he had followed her speech correctly. Was she really offering to help him? Where was the benefit for her? However, her insistent gaze was growing a little cross, the longer he made her wait for a response. "Yes," Jason stammered. "I can do that." She nodded, the decision settled. "Thank you," the boy added, still unsettled by the whole thing.

Jason glanced away and his eyes suddenly fell upon a silver tray, sitting on a table by the door that he had failed to see until now. His eyebrows raised in a question and on seeing this, Pasiphae rolled her eyes.

"You missed the midday meal – which appears to be something you do well." Jason glanced down at his lap as he felt the reproach in her stare. "Therefore, I have brought you up a small selection of food and drink." She paused and her voice turned a little more amused. "You will need your energy for your lessons this afternoon."

At that, Jason's head shot up. He'd forgotten about those bloody lessons and had half-hoped that she had, too. His young face soured and he groaned. "I'm _tired_," he complained. "Can't they start tomorrow?"

"Not when your tutor is here today, no." And suddenly, she was all business again. She rose to her feet and retrieved the tray, bringing it over to Jason and handing it to him. Jason took it automatically and his stomach both rumbled and turned at the smell of the food. "Now, you need to eat, freshen up and change your clothes." She paused, faintly amused at his crestfallen expression. "I shall be back in an hour to escort you."

With that, his mother turned, shot him one last warning look over her shoulder and left the room, shutting the door with that same quiet precision that he was growing so accustomed to.

* * *

When she returned, she was pleased to find that Jason was indeed washed and dressed in the tunic and trousers that had been left out for him. The silver tray had been removed, presumably by a servant. The queen smiled in satisfaction. "Excellent," she remarked, nodding her approval. Jason rolled his eyes and sighed, pushing up standing from where he sat on the bed.

"I've been told I scrub up well." Pasiphae treated him to a strange look which Jason took in his stride: his patterns of speech and idioms were earning him many strange looks lately. He hadn't realised how much Hercules and Pythagoras must take his little oddities in their stride. The young man sighed, wearily. "Well, I'm as ready as I'm going to be."

"For goodness sake, Jason – you are not going to your execution. Now do not slouch and follow me." And with that, Pasiphae left, leaving Jason with no choice but to follow. As they walked the hallways, Jason dragging slightly behind Pasiphae, Jason took a moment to actually take in the scene around him. He'd spent so much of his time there, haunting the gardens that the every day hustle and bustle of Palace life was still new to him. Pasiphae turned off suddenly through a set of doors and Jason nearly walked right past it, lost as he was in his own thoughts. Quickly he backtracked and caught up with her, smiling his way through her exasperated expression and arched eyebrow.

"Where are we going?" he wondered, as the queen resumed her journey along the hallway, servants scuttling out of her way as she went. She didn't look back as she answered his question:

"To the North Tower."

Jason tried not to think about towers being nice, traditional places for imprisoning people. Instead, he was forced to pause as they came to a tiny courtyard that connected two wings of the Palace together. Curious as to why they had stopped, Jason glanced over his mother's shoulder. A group of six or seven men were just ahead of them, carrying between them, piles of scrolls, amphora of wine and rolls of brightly coloured material. The men's clothing looked fairly expensive and they walked with more self-assurance and purpose than Jason had seen the servants do: he studied them, curiously. The group had emerged from the same wing that Jason and Pasiphae now aimed for but when they saw the queen, small though the space was, they moved to the side and gave short bows towards her.

Nodding her acknowledgment, Pasiphae passed through the courtyard's archway, past the men and into the next corridor. Jason awkwardly followed her, glancing down at his feet as he felt their speculative eyes on him. Once in the corridor, Jason could not help but stare around him in awe. Beautiful mosaics spread out before him on the floor and the walls were lined with statues and wall-hangings. Jason tried to identify the figures he saw – some clearly mythological creatures, others more human. He thought he recognised mermaids and sea monsters amongst the very nautically-themed decorations. There were triremes setting sail for war and ships burning on the oceans. But Pasiphae was moving too quickly for him to look at them closely.

A pointed clearing of the throat, a little way ahead of him, made Jason start. He looked up to see his mother waiting for him with her arms crossed and a line of impatience on her face. However, her eyes softened when she saw his honest curiosity. He jogged to catch up with her.

"What is this place?" he asked.

"These areas are more private," Pasiphae explained. "There are private council chambers this way, rooms for the family and our library." Jason raised his eyebrows. So _this_ was the famous library that would send Pythagoras into fits of ecstasy. He made a mental note to tell his friend that he had found out where it was. "We have set aside a room near the top of the tower, for your study." She levelled a glare at him: "See that you put it to good use."

Jason tried not to gulp as he nodded. His mother was walking again and Jason could see that they were heading to a small wooden door, at the end of the passageway. In an attempt to distract himself from thoughts of her expectations, Jason asked:

"And who were those men we passed in the courtyard?" Pasiphae turned on her heel to face him.

"Honestly Jason!" she exclaimed. "I do hope you are not going to ask your teacher so many questions!"

Jason frowned in confusion. "But if I don't ask questions, how am I supposed to learn anything?"

Pasiphae answered him with an incredulous expression. "You _listen_ to what you are told and _remember_ it." Her voice grew quiet and steely in, what Jason now understood, as her more dangerous tone: "Do not give me cause to be ashamed of your actions." Jason sighed, heavily.

"I'll do my best," he intoned, in a voice he hoped was not too overtly sarcastic. In any event, Pasiphae merely narrowed her eyes and nodded tightly. Then, the matter apparently dropped, she turned to open the door.

"But who were they?" Pasiphae paused and let out a slow, measured breath before turning back around to face her son.

"They were a group of advisors whose role it is to organise the Games in the coming months. They have been submitting plans and proposals to the King." Jason's brow furrowed.

"What games?"

"Jason, I have come to realise that you chiefly occupy only your own small world but do _try_ to take an interest in what is going on around you."

"I _am_," he countered, a little offended. "That's why I'm asking." His mother sighed, not wishing to start an argument when the day was pressing on. Instead, she explained:

"Atlantis is to host a series of athletics games between Helios, Crete and Argos. Time is running short for preparations and Minos is most anxious to have the details finalised." About half-way down the hallway, a door opened and Minos himself walked out. His expression was dark and sombre and he held in his hand, a parchment which he read with a scowl, a sigh and a shake of his head. Without even glancing in their direction, the King strode with purposeful steps, down and out of the corridor.

Jason watched him go, then turned to gauge Pasiphae's reaction. The queen had pursed her lips. "Evidently," she remarked, dryly, "the king is not pleased with results thus far." Then she opened the door, firmly, indicating their delay was over. "Come," she instructed, briskly. "We are wasting time. You have lessons to attend and I have my own matters to see to."

She led him up a winding staircase until they emerged onto a small landing, surrounded by circular walls with doors set into them. Pasiphae knocked briefly on one of the doors and then opened it a moment later. Jason hesitated. He hadn't really given much thought to what his tutor would be like. He had primarily imagined a sort of Pythagoras – but a bit older and with slightly wilder hair. But now that he was moments away from discovery, his mind suddenly leapt to the _other_ extreme of academia that he had experienced so far in Atlantis and was, for a moment, struck with sheer horror that they might have, somehow, secured the services of Daedalus. _But no_, he told himself, firmly: _Daedalus would never have agreed_. But someone _like_ him, perhaps…

Pasiphae had stepped into the room and with faltering steps, Jason followed her.

"Master Acrion," Pasiphae greeted the occupant. "The King and I are pleased you have accepted this position. This is my son, Jason." When she stood aside, to reveal his tutor, standing by a small podium and two small benches, Jason almost laughed in relief.

The old man had a kindly face, framed by a shock of white hair and a full, grey beard. He was dressed in the sort of long robes that Jason had always seen pictures of Ancient Greeks wearing in films and in books: a chiton, he'd recently found out. Until only a few weeks ago, Jason hadn't thought anyone in Atlantis wore the clothes he traditionally associated with Ancient Greece. But, on nosing around the house one day, he had stumbled across folds of rectangular white cloth which, when he asked about them, Hercules had informed him was his chiton poderes. Being clueless, he had rolled his eyes through Hercules' standard questioning of _how ignorant was he_, but had listened curiously to the big man's description of the robe. Then he had burst out laughing, trying to picture the larger man wearing it. Hercules had not been amused. However, when Jason had then attempted to, unsuccessfully, dress _himself_ in the chiton, Hercules had sighed with exasperation, swatted his hands away from trying to wrap it round him like a bath towel and had neatly dressed him in it, tucking, folding and pinning it until it was correct.

Acrion bowed politely to Pasiphae. Then he turned to Jason and smiled. "It is a pleasure to meet you, Jason." His voice sounded slightly wobbly. For a second, Jason wondered if he was going to make it through the lesson. But he smiled back.

"Likewise," he answered. Pasiphae glared at him and once more, Jason had to think. "Master Acrion," he tacked on, recalling how his mother had first addressed the man.

"Well," Pasiphae announced. "I shall leave you to your work. I am sure Jason has much he can learn from you." After a moment's pause, Acrion smiled again and nodded. Jason almost suspected he was functioning a good five seconds behind the rest of them. As she turned to leave, Pasiphae leaned in closer towards him. "Master Acrion is highly renowned for his learning. Learn well and _be successful_," she warned before sweeping out of the room, closing the door behind her. Acrion suddenly bowed again at the closed door and Jason tried not to close his eyes.

Trying not to let his mother's words of warning echo in his ears, Jason faced his tutor with a half laugh. He indicated the recent departure of the Queen with a nod towards the closed door. "The first thing she wants you to teach me is how to terrify people with just two words."

A couple of seconds later and the old man blinked several times and turned to the rolls of parchment on his podium. "_Oh_…oh," he mumbled. "I don't think I _have_ such knowledge contained in these…"

"No, no!" Jason immediately cut in, raising his hands in an apology. "I was kidding." Acrion turned confused eyes on him and Jason sighed. "It was a _joke_," he clarified.

His tutor thought for a moment and then a confused smile graced his lined face. "_Ah_," he exclaimed. "I see." It was painfully clear that he did not. Jason made a mental note to try and avoid both sarcasm and humour. "Well, Jason. Let us take our seats and we may begin." And on saying that, the old man took a seat on a small curved wooden bench, and indicated for Jason to do the same, opposite him.

"We shall begin, with some translations." A scroll was removed from the top of the pile and Jason tried very hard not to groan.

* * *

That's it for now. If you enjoyed it, please let me know. Thanks for reading this far!


	5. Chapter 5

The Road Ahead - Chapter 5

Thank-you to everyone who reviewed and to who is reading this story! _Angel_ – thanks for your review. Pasiphae's a funny one, isn't she? You're never quite sure _what_ she's up to in the background. :-) There's more of her coming up, though so I hope you like it.

Standard disclaimer applies.

Right! Let's get on with it…

Chapter 5

_Broiled pork and lamb cuts with honey and figs; breads; cheeses; fish_: Pasiphae ran her appraising eye down the list of food that her kitchen had provided her as a sample menu for the visiting dignitaries. The delicacies were pleasant enough, but did they speak of Atlantis' refinement? Of its wealth and civility? She narrowed her eyes in thought. She had been served such a wonderfully spiced and sweet concoction when she had last visited Knossos to make preparations for the Games. If Knossos could have it, Atlantis must have it too: only theirs must surpass it. Pasiphae jotted down the flavours she could recall – and her senses rarely failed her – determined to give it to her cooks and demand they recreate the dish.

Despite the cooler months setting in, the day was close and she paused to drink from a cup of sweet wine, resting beside her on the table. The sun was strong and almost blinding, casting its white light sharply across her eyes. She shifted her position slightly and glanced about the room for a servant to draw coverings over the windows. But as she lifted her arm to summon aid, she heard another frustrated sigh emitting from the other end of the room and, reluctantly, stayed her action.

She currently shared an uneasy working space in the joint apartments, shared by her and her husband and Minos, Pasiphae knew, _loved_ the sunlight. Appeasing him must always appear to be her duty and in any event, his temper had been frayed lately. The plans for the Games, somehow, did not meet his expectations. Not that the queen thought he actually _knew _what he wanted in the first place. But _something was not quite right_, he insisted on telling her, repeatedly.

Holding back a frustrated sigh of her own at the ineptitude of the men in her life, Pasiphae glanced towards the king's wine jug and plate of fruits and nuts: neither were quite empty yet but a refreshed selection may yet refresh his mood. Like all men, she thought, he fared better when fed and watered. The queen's keen gaze fixed upon the eyes of a servant, standing with her back to the wall and she gave the young woman the smallest of nods. Understanding the silent instruction – the king far preferred silence these days – the woman nodded and scurried from the room.

With her own thoughts distracted, Pasiphae turned her mind to Jason. It had been some hours since she had left him with his tutor and she could not help but wonder how he had tested. The boy was not stupid, she reminded herself, firmly: she had seen that. But then Pasiphae had never expected he would be: he had been a very alert baby, she always felt – making eye-contact with her, practically from birth, watching what went on around him keenly, curling his little fingers round objects, with such dexterity for one so small. No, he was _never_ going to be stupid.

But beyond that? Pasiphae could not help pressing her lips together in worry. He clearly had a primary education but what of the rest? The queen prayed they would not have to go back to the _beginning _of his secondary education. As if sensing where her thoughts were going, a light knock sounded on the door and, when she nodded to the servant to open the door, Acrion himself cautiously stepped through.

On seeing the elderly man, Pasiphae immediately straightened as she felt her trepidation jostle with her curiosity. She beckoned the man into the room and Acrion shuffled forwards until he stood on an opulent rug, in-front of her. The queen tried to gauge his expression: the hint of apprehension could be explained away by the simple fact of having a private audience with the king and queen. But what ill news lay beyond those pale eyes? She noted the smoothing down of his robes. That was a nervous gesture, she thought: it belied bad news and the reluctance to deliver it. Inwardly, she steeled herself.

"Your Majesty," Acrion said, bowing first to her and then to Minos, although the king had spared the tutor only the tersest of glances as he had entered the room and was seemingly ignoring him completely now. "I come, as requested, to give you a report on your son's learning." The queen nodded, praying she looked calmer than she felt.

"Go on, Master Acrion," she encouraged. The man cleared his throat. _Yes_, Pasiphae thought: _definitely nervous_.

"Well," he began. "Jason is…a delightful young man."

Pasiphae narrowed her eyes: "But is he an _educated_ young man?"

Acrion drew in a slightly shuddery breath: "His Geometry is very good, as are his calculations – though he does have a peculiar way of representing number." A look of confusion crossed his weathered face for a moment but he quickly shook it off. "In any event, Mathematics is good. His Geography is…puzzling." Pasiphae narrowed her eyes again. "He seems to be aware of most of the countries that surround us, though his terms for them can wildly differ from our own. He also indicates that lands exist where they do not." Sharp suspicion suddenly bolted through the queen, though she kept her silence, nodding at the man to continue with his report.

"In any event, I am afraid he knows very little of the lands of Greece and cannot name our cities beyond a small handful. He appears to have no grounding in History and his knowledge of Law and Politics is…rudimentary, to say the most." Despite her best intentions, Pasiphae began to feel shame, creeping in to her chest. It was _not_ the boy's fault, she reminded herself, firmly.

Seeing the queen's expression begin to falter, Acrion hesitated. "Continue, Master Acrion," she demanded, sensing his reluctance.

Acrion gave a small nod, almost regretfully. "I suspect, Your Majesty, that your son has _not_ been raised with our Gods." At that, Pasiphae drew in a harsh breath. Even Minos looked up from his papers, proving that, contrary to her original belief, he _had_ been keeping an ear on the proceedings. "He knows very little about them and cannot recite oaths and prayers." Pasiphae swallowed and nodded, silently. They would address that matter privately. For once, that wretched girl Ariadne may prove useful – Jason would be far more willing to learn if _she_ were the one to teach him and her role within the Temple would give her just such a purpose.

"His Rhetoric is clumsy and he has strange views on the Sciences and Astronomy. His translations are terrible, I am afraid to say. However," he continued, in a suddenly brighter tone of voice: "his sketching and art are very pleasing. He was…most reluctant to recite Poetry when I asked it of him."

Pasiphae's eyes narrowed into hard slits and her voice, sharpened, dangerously: "Jason refused to obey your instruction?" She cast a speculative eye over the old man: he was very well qualified but did he have wits enough about him to deal with her son? One thing she knew of the boy for certain, was that Jason could be wilful and stubborn when the mood suited him.

But Acrion slowly shook his head. "No," he began. "He was…_hesitant_ at first but I do not think he _believed_ that my intent was serious. However, I did persuade him that my purpose was true and he…" The old man trailed off, a look of resurfacing puzzlement crossing his face. "The poetry he recalls is unlike any I have ever heard. He _did_ manage half a poem entitled…" He thought for a moment: "_The Ning, Nang, Nong_. And something that I believe he called, a limerick. But they were _most_ strange, my Lady."

The queen arched an eyebrow. "Indeed."

Shaking the last of the confusion away, Acrion continued. "I have not had time to test his Music. Will you be wanting a separate tutor to take him through the Gymnasium?"

Pasiphae gave a quiet snort. "I think if we may be sure of _anything_, it is that he has no need of instruction in _that_ discipline." Acrion nodded.

Suddenly, from the back of the room Minos spoke up: "Rhetoric."

Both the queen and Acrion turned, in surprise, at the king's unexpected entry into the discussion. "My Lord?" Pasiphae asked.

Minos looked briefly to his wife and then to the tutor. "You must focus your attention on his public speaking," he muttered then looked back to his notes, saying distractedly: "I can barely hear the boy when he speaks." Acrion nodded earnestly, even as Pasiphae felt a prickle of annoyance at her husband's interference. As much as she wanted her husband to take an interest in his stepson, this was _her_ son. Still, she smiled and nodded, knowing his sour mood was not helping matters.

"As you wish: you are right – it will serve Jason well."

"And while you are teaching him to speak up," Minos continued, apparently not as appeased as the queen would have liked, "you can teach him some good _posture_, too. I am fed up with him slouching and leaning against the wall like a ladder."

Pasiphae suddenly felt a wave of defensiveness and perhaps, protectiveness wash over her. "I assure you that Jason _is_ trying his best, My Lord. He works hard to follow my instructions."

Minos put down his stylus and turned an almost mocking look upon his wife. "Well perhaps then you could _instruct_ him that _tables_ are not for sitting on?" And on saying this, he picked up his stylus and once more resumed his work, ignoring his wife and the old man. Pasiphae's jaw clenched. Hard. She turned and smiled, tightly, at Acrion.

"Thank you for your services today. You may return tomorrow to begin your lessons, shortly after breakfast." Nervously, Acrion nodded and bowed.

"As you wish, Your Majesty."

He turned and left the room, just as the serving girl re-entered with fresh wine and food. Pasiphae turned back to her own work silently as the girl served Minos his refreshment and cleared the old away. Once she had left for the kitchens, a short pause followed before Pasiphae heard the king sigh, wearily.

"I am sorry, my Love," he said, quietly. Her back to him, Pasiphae allowed herself a tiny smile. Then she turned to face him. "I did not mean to speak so harshly to you," Minos continued. "I _know_ the boy is trying and you are doing a fine job in guiding him. It is just that..." He trailed off and sighed once more. Rising, Pasiphae walked to stand by him, placing comforting hands on his shoulders.

"You are vexed, my Lord." She supplied. "These demands are weighing you down." Minos nodded.

"This is true. The requirements from Kind Pinytus in Knossos and Temenos in Athens _must_ be met but there are _so many_ particulars that I do not, yet know. I do not even have a list of which guests they will be bringing with them. Especially Pinytus – I know almost _nothing_ of his arrangements!" He threw frustrated hands into the air and leaned back in his chair, easing out the tension in his back as Pasiphae rubbed his shoulders, soothingly.

"Minos, I dealt very smoothly with King Pinytus and his Queen when I visited them last. Could I not travel once more to meet them and deal with these details personally? The journey there and back could be made within three weeks, possibly two with a fair wind. Please: let me relieve at least _some_ of your burden and give you time to focus on matters closer to home. I know the details of the ceremony and the provisions for our athletes and their families, are also causing you concern."

She sensed his hesitation. "I am your _Queen_, Minos. Let me help you." For a moment, Pasiphae considered her own offer: it was rare of her to make an offer such as this without an ulterior motive for wanting to be out of the Palace. But in this case, she could honestly say that her purpose was true. And certainly, such an offer of assistance would not hurt her recently fractured reputation.

Minos turned to look at her and his hand reached up to gratefully squeeze her own. "You are good to me," he told her, smiling. "If you feel the journey will not be too much for you then I shall assemble an escort for you and send a herald to Pinytus." Pasiphae leaned down and kissed him gently on the forehead.

"I shall start to make my own preparations for the journey," she assured him, with a smile of her own.

* * *

Dinner that evening had been a quiet affair. Jason was, Pasiphae noted with some irritation, absent once more. Minos would start to construe this as rudeness soon. However, Ariadne, who had met with him before the meal, reported that Jason had wanted some time alone, after his tutoring. The boy had worked hard that day. Pasiphae reluctantly concluded that she could not blame him his need for solitude.

But still, the Queen had wanted to speak to him. With this in mind, she sought him out after dinner and found her son, without too much trouble, near _Hera's Garden_, towards the back of the Palace grounds. The peacocks were for once, mercifully quiet and noticeably absent.

"What have you done with the birds?" she asked, with a touch of shrewd amusement as she approached where he sat on a small stone bench. Jason looked up at her in surprise, wondering at first, if this had been a genuine accusation. The hint of wry humour glinting in his mother's eyes was unexpected and he found himself cautiously smiling back.

"They're cooking in a pot in the kitchens," he replied, reasonably sure she would understand his humour.

She nodded, mildly. "Excellent. Though I am sure they shall make a tough and bitter meal, if only to spite us." The queen seated herself next to her son and her son did not inch away from her. This was progress, she marked silently: every step was progress. A minute of silence passed as mother and son sat on the stone bench and the evening breeze blew gently through the poplar trees.

"I have spoken to Master Acrion," she said at length. Jason laughed, quietly.

"I'm worse than you imagined, aren't I?"

She didn't bother denying it: "And I had not imagined much."

Jason remained silent, a little surprised by how this woman's disappointment made him feel. "This is _not your fault_," Pasiphae reminded him, sharply. "You have clearly been educated in your _own_ lands." She cast a curious gaze over him. "Though _where_ those lands might be, gives me cause to wonder. Your knowledge is…most unusual." Jason immediately tensed and began to shuffle nervously. He couldn't get up and walk away from his mother – that was rude and he knew her expectations on this. But at the same time, he desperately sought a way to divert her from the topic.

"I just misunderstood some of his questions," he assured her, quickly. "That's all."

She raised an eyebrow. "That is all, is it?" Her voice was deceptively light, but Jason wasn't fooled.

"_Yes_," he replied, firmly, his expression resolute. For a second longer, Pasiphae held his gaze, seeking something out in his eyes. Then she abruptly dropped the matter.

"Your lessons shall resume tomorrow morning. See you are well-rested for them." Relieved to be off the topic of his origins, Jason nodded and for the next few moments, silence returned between them. Yet it did not feel quite so strange as it had done in the past. Jason cast his gaze about the gardens. A steady beating of wings overhead suddenly drew his gaze upwards as the dark shape of a fairly large bird suddenly swooped down to the ground, only a few feet from them and then soared upwards again, a small creature, possibly a lizard of some kind, grasped in its talons.

Jason had jumped a little in surprise, when the bird had first struck, as had Pasiphae, but now he watched in open curiosity, as the bird flew up into the sky. He couldn't help feeling sorry for the small creature in its grasp but he supposed the bird had to eat as well.

"What was that?" he asked.

"A sparrowhawk. They don't normally hunt when people are so close by. This one was bold." She paused and watched the interest in his eyes. "Do you have such birds in your home lands?" Jason thought for a moment.

"You mean hawks and stuff? Like birds of prey?" His mother nodded. "Yeah, I guess so. I don't really know much about birds. I know a bit more about sea-birds, though." The boy cast a hesitant look towards her. "I lived near the sea for a while," he explained, shyly. "I used to love watching the gulls and the terns."

"We have those here, in Atlantis."

Jason grinned. "I know. A few days ago, Pythagoras, Hercules and I went down to the beach for the day. I _swear_, Pythagoras must have sketched _dozens_ of birds – we spent ages trying to identify them when we got home." For a moment a far-off look came over his face and he didn't realise that Pasiphae wore the faintest of smiles. "He was really good," Jason told her.

"I hear you have quite the talent for sketching, yourself," the queen pointed out, causing Jason to blush and shrug in embarrassment. "Did you not want to draw them, too?" Again, he shrugged and ducked his head. The queen watched him, curiously.

"I just like watching the ocean. _Thinking_ – you know?"

Pasiphae narrowed her eyes and for a moment, Jason worried that he had said the wrong thing again – that this was not a suitable, _productive_ way to spend his time. But presently she asked. "You enjoy the solitude?" Funnily, it was more like a statement than a question.

Jason glanced down to his hands. "I kind of got used to my own company when I was growing up." His blush darkened. He was embarrassed, she suddenly realised. She faltered, not knowing how to combat that. "I sort of need my own head-space once in a while."

Awkwardly, Jason trailed off but he looked back into the sky, seeing if perhaps he could still track the bird's flight. But he couldn't. The bird was too fast and the night had drawn in. Jason couldn't help smiling when he saw that the stars had suddenly crept out on him during the time that he had been sitting out in the garden. They shone down in their constellations, bright and beautiful.

"That is Orion," Pasiphae said softly, from beside him. Jason turned his head to her. She was pointing to the familiar constellation, hanging in the sky just above the heart of the city.

"The Hunter," Jason added, smiling to himself. How many times had he gazed upon the same stars at home, staying out long into the night, immersing himself in a world far away. Pasiphae looked at him in mild surprise.

"You know the stories of the stars?"

Jason immediately became guarded. "Not all of them.," he said, hastily. "If you tested me on them, I wouldn't pass." A flicker of something akin to regret and sadness, crossed his mother's face and she smiled, gently at him.

"The question was not meant to test you. I always loved listening to those tales."

She watched her son, carefully. The boy appeared…unsure of himself. Hesitant. Pasiphae tried not to hold her breath, not wanting to scare him. She waited a moment.

"So did I," Jason admitted quietly, eyes down on his knees. Beside him, he felt his mother's dress blow gently in the wind, tickling his bare arms. He waited for her to quiz him or to get up and walk away, having decided they had said as much as they were going to say to each other that evening. But she did neither of those things. She simply sat and watched the sky and when he risked a glance over to her, a look of peaceful contemplation was on her face, a faint smile at the corner of her mouth. Jason almost blinked in surprise. For a second, he tensed, thinking she would notice him looking and scold him for his rudeness. But when this, too did not happen, Jason shrugged to himself. If _she_ was content to sit and look at the stars, then it must be alright for _him_ to do the same.

And so he did and once more, the tiny pricks of silver light transported him to peaceful, wonderful places.

Suddenly, her voice interrupted the quiet. "Do you know, that the hawk and its prey have reminded me of another story?" She paused and looked to him. Jason returned her look, a question hanging in his expression. "Have you heard the story of Ganymede?" she asked him. Jason thought for a moment.

"No."

"He was a shepherd, young, handsome and strong, admired by Zeus. One day, Zeus decided he would have Ganymede to serve him as Cup-Bearer in Olympus and so he turned himself into an Eagle, swooped down and carried the boy off to Mount Olympus."

Jason raised his eyebrows and smiled. "An _invitation_ would have been polite. Is Ganymede in the stars, too?"

Pasiphae nodded. "In return for his service, he was made immortal and remained young and beautiful forever. He is the Water-Bearer. You may find him next to Pisces."

Jason tried to find it in the sky but Pasiphae shook her head. "You cannot see him tonight. I shall tell you when you might." Jason nodded absently but, Pasiphae noted with some amusement, the boy still searched the sky for it, despite knowing it could not be seen. She shook her head, fondly as she watched his earnest expression, scouring the Heavens. The silver moonlight cast a pale glow on his youthful features and once again, the queen found herself marvelling at the young man her son had become.

"Jason," she said, drawing his attention back to her. Even so, she was sure she only held a portion of it. But he did at least turn his head back to look, questioningly at her. "I shall be occupied with the organisation of these Games for the next few months, as will Minos." Unsure where this was going, Jason simply nodded to show that he had heard her. "I shall expect you to give all your efforts to your lessons in the meantime." Jason sighed, heavily and a scowl marred his face. Her hand immediately caught his chin and tilted his face towards her. "I _shall_ be keeping close watch on your progress with Master Acrion. This is important, Jason. We each of us have our roles to fulfil. _Promise me_ you will do your best."

Jason frowned and sighed again but as his mother made no show of releasing his chin, he eventually relented. "_Fine_. I promise." Pasiphae narrowed her eyes ever so slightly before finally releasing him. Still slightly irritated, Jason muttered: "So what are these Games meant to be for, anyway? A festival to the God of…I don't know – _Exercise_?"

Pasiphae could not help but snort quietly in laughter despite the shocking gaps in the boy's knowledge. "No," she replied. "There _is no_ God of Exercise. These Games are a ruse."

That pulled Jason up short. "A what?"

Pasiphae smiled to herself. "They are a ruse," she repeated. "A concoction I devised to give me a reason to leave the Palace and travel to the mountains to find you." She watched her son's startled expression. "Minos knows the truth now, of course but the Games are a political tool, whatever the reason for them. They give Atlantis power and prestige, especially if the victor were to emerge from amongst our own citizens." She looked, almost longingly at him but said nothing more on the subject. Instead, Jason silently digested the news, his insides twisting, peculiarly. He hesitated, his world a little more off-kilter than it had been a few moments ago. Slowly, ever so slowly, cracks and fissures were appearing in the stone that encased this woman and _something_ was emerging from beneath. Jason wasn't sure what it was, though. Maybe not a _mother_, but a _woman_…

He cleared his throat, hesitantly. "I never said thank-you." His voice was quiet, very quiet.

Pasiphae waved a hand, dismissively. "There is no need," she said, lightly.

"Yes there is." He swallowed. "It was rude of me. I never really thought about it before. But, thank-you." Jason glanced up at her and saw that she was looking at him with an expression that was almost as uncertain as his own. Yet Pasiphae smiled.

"Then you are welcome." Suddenly, Pasiphae sighed. "These Games are a time for our best and most blessed to shine before Atlantis and before the Gods." Jason tensed uncomfortably even as his mother continued. "I have watched you in the arena, Jason and there are none in Atlantis who can _fly_ the way you do. None who possess your skill, your speed." Jason tried to look away from her but his mother pressed on. "I _wish_ that I could say that your abilities came from me and the _Gods know_ they do not come from your father. They are gifts from the _Gods_, Jason and I cannot tell you how it makes me feel to watch you, my own son, compete."

Jason had always imagined that such a declaration of maternal pride from this woman would terrify him – _disgust_ him, even. Yet strangely, it did not. Instead, it started to feel more like the way he had imagined it might feel, all those times as a boy at Sports Days, watching his classmates' mothers beaming with pride and snapping photographs. He'd never possessed the physical prowess that he seemed to possess here but he had still won his fair share of races. Of course, he had never had an eager mother, taking his picture at the end of the day. He had simply accepted his ribbons, thanked the head-teacher and stowed it away. There was _one_ occasion, though: a mother of one of his classmates had _insisted_ he have his photograph taken – _'the winner deserves to have a photo!'_ she had said. Jason had almost been struck dumb with embarrassment but he had still held up his ribbon as she had instructed and smiled, shyly at the ground. Jason thought about that photograph now: what had become of it? Had she thrown it away as soon as it was developed? Or was he still in England somewhere, collecting dust at the bottom of an old chest of drawers? A skinny boy with a mop of curly hair and a shy smile, holding up his winner's ribbon?

It suddenly struck Jason, how _little_ of his childhood he had spent wondering about his mother, compared with his father.

So it was with more regret than he would have imagined that he shook his head. "I can't compete." For a moment, he worried about her reaction, but though he saw the disappointment in her eyes, she nodded her head. "If it was like before," he tried to explain. "If I could just be _me_, you know? Maybe I would. But _now_…people might _know_." He winced at how that probably sounded but he couldn't help it. "I'm just not ready for that. I'm sorry."

But Pasiphae nodded once more, slowly. "I understand. Some day, perhaps, I shall watch you compete…as your mother."

Jason glanced down at his lap, awkwardly, not really knowing what to say. It was an alien feeling, wondering if he should want to please her or not. Wondering if he should _care_, either way. She was silent for a moment and this time, Jason felt the silence more keenly.

"The evenings are getting colder, Jason. Do not stay out here for much longer." He barely had time to acknowledge her before Pasiphae suddenly rose swiftly to her feet. She turned and placed a hand on his face for just a moment and then she removed it and walked away, back towards the Palace.

* * *

Right! I hope people enjoyed it and thanks for reading so far. Please let me know if you've read and enjoyed it. Just a couple of words, if you can, really do help to give me a reason for the next chapter. Thank-you!


	6. Chapter 6

The Road Ahead

Standard disclaimer applies.

Thanks very much for your reviews and p.m.s _Angel_: Yes – Jason's no fool but I don't think his modern education will do him any good in Atlantis! I can only imagine which limerick he chose to recite – let's hope it wasn't one of the rude ones :-)

Chapter 6

The agora buzzed with its habitual hustle and bustle as vendors vied with each other for the passing shoppers' attention, occasionally seeing off an intruding animal or one of the several small children who wove their way between the stalls, playing various chasing games. Jason smiled as he watched them laugh and squeal, even as they were shooed away, continuing their pursuit across the market square. It was mid-afternoon and as Jason headed towards the Palace, his bag slung over his shoulder, the young man found himself humming a little tune, occasionally singing a few bars under his breath. These were songs that no-one would know or appreciate so, like so many things that made up his life, they had to be kept secret. But in this case, not wanting to put on a show for people, Jason didn't really mind.

Two weeks had crept by and Jason was surprised to find that he had fallen in to a fairly easy routine. It had its downfalls of course, but also unexpected moments of light. Nothing momentous – no one moment of blinding brilliance that stood out in his mind. No: it was a quiet, steady building – one evening following another where he had not struggled to fill his hours or focused single-mindedly on when his time would be up.

Jason glanced down to the bottoms of his trousers, pleased to see them now dry but wincing a little at the dried mud that caked both the hems and his feet. He'd have to make sure he avoided his mother and Minos until he'd made it to his room to change. There was a quicker, more discrete passage to his room, he had since discovered and it might be wise to make use of it today. It had not been raining, of course – the weather remained warm and beautiful, during the day. But the building work in Aeson's community could be messy work and Jason loved to get stuck into it. More and more houses were being constructed as gradually, people moved out of the mines and into the settlement. Jason had spent most of yesterday hauling up wooden frames and climbing the trees to saw off the boughs and branches that they needed. The lepers were starting to refer to him as 'the monkey' but Jason didn't really mind.

In the evenings when Jason stayed with his father, he and Aeson would always go the river bank and there they would sit until the sun had set, talking about anything and everything. Jason _loved_ those times – he longed for them all week. He and his father could talk about anything – _anything_, with no restrictions, no need to check himself about revealing too much of his past. For Aeson, it was the same. They were honest with each other, care-free and the more Jason told his father – about his past, his school, the few friendships he had managed to form – the closer he grew to him once more. It made him feel…_light_. It made him feel _connected_, to his past and to his present. In short, being with his father was making Jason feel whole again.

Jason and Aeson had drawn up some plans for the community. The boy's current obsession was to divert part of the river's flow into irrigation channels. The villagers had been thrilled with the idea and Jason had spent hours up to his knees in water, trying to dig the channels. It was no-where near finished of course but Jason was almost as obsessed with his project as Pythagoras was about his triangles. He had risen early, before breakfast to get another couple of hours work on it before he had to leave and Aeson had eventually had to come down to the river to find the boy and drag him out of the water, lest he be late back to Atlantis. Jason had come out reluctantly and Aeson had laughed to see the muddy, sopping state of him, remarking wryly that he had better not let his mother see him like that. Jason had looked down at himself and laughed, too.

Mercifully, the sun had done its job, baking away the more offensive aspects of his appearance. The path to the Palace was familiar now, less daunting. Jason trotted up the steps and gave a quick nod to the guards at the gate. As he entered the Palace and made his way into the private apartments, he smiled easily at the servants he saw. Most were still unsure what to make of this strange boy and quickly averted their eyes, hurrying on. The cook had a soft spot for him, for some reason and Jason knew it. He winked at her whenever he saw her, causing the woman to blush but nevertheless smile as she shooed him on his way.

When Jason arrived in his room, he threw his bag down onto the bed and flopped down on it, pulling off his sandals. His feet were almost black with dried mud and added layers of dust. The same could be said for his legs, too. A jug of clean water stood waiting on his dressing table. Jason wandered over to it, undoing his belt as he did so and pulling off his tunic, letting them both drop to the floor. He eyed the water appraisingly. It didn't look like it would be enough this time. Jason wandered over to the door, absently kicking his discarded tunic out of his way, and he popped his head outside, glancing up and down the corridor. A chamber maid was a little further down, neatly folded piles of white linen laid across her tanned arms.

"Hi," Jason called out softly. The girl turned and her eyes immediately widened as she blushed and looked away. Jason made a mental note to remember to put a tunic on before he stepped outside his room again. "Sorry," he apologised. "But do you think someone could bring some more water up to my room?" He glanced down at the state of himself and gave a shy, embarrassed laugh. "I think I need to clean up a bit." The girl risked a quick peek back at him and nodded hastily before she bobbed and scurried away.

Shaking his head slowly, Jason slipped back into his room and shut the door. He dug out some fresh clothes from the trunk at the end of his bed, before closing the heavy wooden lid and sitting down on top of it, not wanting to risk getting his bedspread muddy. Something was sticking out from underneath his bed, obviously missed by the servants who usually came to clean his room before he returned. Jason leaned down and teased the edge of it out with his fingertips until, finally, it was possible to latch on to it and pick it up.

He gave a faint groan when the roll of parchment emerged into view. He unravelled a small portion of it to discover it was more Greek translations. Jason tossed it onto his bed, trying not to think about it. Lessons with Acrion were, on the whole, not unbearable but Greek translations, it was probably fair to say, had become the bane of his life. He just couldn't get the hang of them, no matter how hard he tried. Though it had to be said that he didn't try all that hard to begin with. Jason made a little more effort with his other subjects: Pythagoras had turned out to be very willing and ready to help Jason with his Biology work and studying with his friend was always more enjoyable, often sitting out on the balcony and talking, a bottle of wine shared between them. Pasiphae often sat with him in the evenings, when she had the time, and talked about the stars and the movements of the planets. It was difficult sometimes, not pointing out the obvious inaccuracies in some of her explanations but Jason found that he enjoyed listening to her stories and the simple, quiet time he spent in her company. When she was alone, his mother could be a very different woman. Sometimes he probed into her past a little, asked her what her family was like and though she never answered him harshly, nor did she answer him directly. It was not long before she changed the conversation on to something else but Jason couldn't ever blame her. God knows he hated talking about his own past and would usually employ exactly the same tactics as his mother when pressed on the subject. He'd also met her sister and if she was anything to go by, he could well understand why Pasiphae kept her silence.

Idly, Jason began to wonder where she was. The queen had usually visited him by now. She had been very busy, before he had left the last time, with preparations for the Games so perhaps this delayed her now. Already, the streets of the city were busier as travellers arrived for the early festivities, despite the opening ceremonies not being for another three weeks. Accommodation would soon fill up and Pasiphae had informed him that most visitors would simply make camp outside the grounds. Looking around his room, Jason began to feel time inching on. He glanced to the door. How long ago had he asked for the water, he wondered? Did he have time to do his exercises before the girl came back? Jason's strength was still not back to what the young man wanted it to be and he made it a point to complete his exercises every evening until it was.

Jason hesitated a moment. The young man rose to his feet and walked over to the door, tugging his trousers up as they slipped a little lower down his hips – if the poor girl _was_ there, the last thing he wanted to do was shock her again! But no sooner had his fingers brushed the door-handle then a light knocking sounded. Jason quickly looked around for something to throw on but as nothing was to hand, he simply opened the door, praying that by some freak occurrence, it wasn't Minos.

It wasn't. Several servants each delivered a large amphora of warm water and set them next to the cold jug. They then tempered the water carefully into the wooden bath, making Jason blush faintly though he wasn't sure why. When they had gone, however, Jason eyed the steaming water with a contented, weary sigh. He suddenly realised how _tired_ he was and how his feet ached! Not wanting to waste any time or let the bath go tepid, Jason quickly let go of the waist of his trousers and let them slide to the floor. They were idly kicked away somewhere to join his tunic. Then Jason stepped into the bath and carefully eased himself down into the water. The warm water was a shock at first but once his body adjusted to the temperature, Jason sat back and closed his eyes contentedly. The heat was soothing – particularly for his chest. He'd caught a mild cold a couple of weeks ago and shifting the last of it was proving to be a challenge.

And so, letting the gentle heat lap at his aching muscles and wash away what felt like a week's worth of dirt and grime, Jason enjoyed his moment of quiet.

* * *

Some time later – Jason wasn't sure how long exactly – he heaved himself from the water, content that the worst of his aches and soreness had been eased away. Quickly, he dressed and scrubbed a thick cloth over his hair until the water no longer dripped steadily down his neck and back. Rummaging around in his bag, Jason eventually fished out the small comb that Hercules had given to him and ran it quickly through his unruly curls. A breeze picked up outside the window and Jason briefly wandered out to his small balcony, breathing in the fresh air and looking out over the lush, green gardens. He felt suitably revitalised and ready to face the next three days. But first, he had a task to complete – a promise to fulfil.

Since Pasiphae had still not appeared to meet him, Jason made his own way down to seek her out. She was not in her private apartments and so, a little hesitantly, Jason headed towards the Council Chambers. He knocked lightly on the door and then slowly pushed it open and stepped inside the room. There had only been one previous occasion when Jason had had cause to enter this place and it still felt alien and imposing to him. Only Minos, however, occupied the space. He was seated at a polished wooden table, papers spread out around him and his habitual frown in place across his bronzed forehead. His eyes had been downcast, studying his work but he had spared his stepson a quick glance, on entering. Jason tensed when he saw the king and was already making his apologies and backing out, when he heard the man speak.

"What is it, Jason?"

Jason forced himself to turn back to face him and to stand still. "Sorry. I didn't mean to disturb you. I was just looking for Pasiphae. She wasn't in her apartments." Minos gave a small, weary sigh. His fingertips began to massage his temples. Jason almost winced at how _tired_ the king looked.

"Your mother is visiting Knossos, dealing with arrangements for the Games. She left four days ago." Minos watched a tiny flicker of surprise cross the boy's face.

"Oh," Jason said, somewhat jostled. "I knew she was planning to go. I just didn't realise it was so soon."

"Time _is_ wearing on," Minos pointed out, though he was faintly surprised his wife had not sent word to her son. "We may expect her back in a week or so." Jason hastily nodded and once more began to retreat.

"Okay. I mean, alright. Thank you. I won't take up any more of your…"

"Jason."

The quiet command made the young man stop once more. Minos put down his papers and laced his fingers together, levelling his full attention on the boy. "With your mother gone, you are in _my_ charge." Jason felt himself blush at this and tried not to squirm at the unfamiliarity of being in _anyone's _charge. Not for a _very_ long time. "Now tell me what it is that you wanted." For a moment, Jason was unsure of himself. He did have a purpose in mind and an important one, too. He had met Hercules in the street that afternoon as he had returned from Aeson's and the two had shared a brief conversation. That conversation had led to a request and from that request, a promise. And Jason hated to ignore a promise.

He cleared his throat. "Um, I was going to ask if I could return to the city, this evening?" Minos raised a querulous eyebrow and Jason felt his pulse thud more heavily. "My friend, Hercules, has been given a job by one of the merchants who've arrived for the Games. He has to unload these barrels of wine and ship them to a warehouse to guard and I was wondering if I can help him shift them and help him keep watch tonight?" Jason paused for breath, acutely aware that this was probably the most he had ever said to Minos in one sitting.

Jason tried not to look at his feet, knowing how Minos disapproved. But it wasn't easy. He wasn't used to the king focusing so much attention on him. "You have _officially_ had your time in the city," he began slowly, making Jason tense. "However, I am aware that your mother has given you leave to return to the city, _on occasion_."

"Yes sire," Jason agreed, quietly, trying not to sound too eager or expectant.

"You promised him you would help?" The king's voice grew sharp.

"I promised I would _ask_."

Minos paused and seemed to consider the matter, thoughtfully. It gave Jason hope. He had thought Minos would simply dismiss his request out of hand. Presently though, he announced:

"Ah, I do not see the harm in it." Jason's heart leapt and he couldn't help the shy smile. "Though we each have our responsibilities to fulfil, including you. Bring your work to this chamber so that I may be assured your duties are completed. _Then_, after dinner, you may leave."

Gratefully, Jason nodded, glad to be able not only to lend a hand, but also to see his friends outside of his allocated hours. Dimly, he was aware that an extended time in his new stepfather's presence was not a prospect to look forward to nor one he had originally anticipated. However, his goal was achieved and that was what mattered.

Jason had happily trotted up to his room and retrieved the scrolls and parchments he was to work on. He shoved them into his leather satchel, wincing when he heard one of them tear. The boy hoped it was nothing too important. Then Jason rummaged around in the trunk by his bed until he had located a stylus. He had told Hercules that he would meet him at the flat, just after sunset, if he was given permission. Jason knew that if he didn't show up, Hercules would just assume he wasn't coming. He glanced out of the window – the sun was still strong in the sky. Ariadne performed her duties in the temple on this particular day and often late into the evening. Jason sighed. She would not be at the evening meal and he grimaced at the prospect of the rather intimate setting for two. Surely Minos would not want to eat with just him?

As Jason hurried out of his room, remembering just in time, not to outright run, he began to wonder if Minos would object if he went straight to meet Hercules and got something to eat from one of the little street vendors? Arriving at the Council Chambers' door, he gave a short knock before cautiously opening it. Minos glanced up at him and waved him in with one hand.

"Ah, good," the king remarked, pleased that his stepson had made such good time. Clearly his desire to go and meet with his friend was strong. He indicated a small table, by the window at which Jason should presumably sit. Quickly, Jason followed the instruction, seating himself carefully and tipping out his satchel onto the desk. Minos raised an eyebrow at the tumble of scrolls, giving Jason a rather pointed look when his stylus rolled off onto the floor.

"Sorry," Jason muttered quietly and quickly bent to retrieve it. Shaking his head slightly, Minos turned back to his work as Jason unrolled one of the parchments, weighting the ends down with small stones to stop it curling up on him. That was a trick he had quickly learnt to master after one particularly bad lesson where none of his scrolls would remain flat and dear, sweet Master Acrion had come very close to losing his frail temper.

The sun shone through the small window, casting a golden streak across his parchment and showing up the clouds of mottled dust. Jason absently tapped his stylus against his paper and smiled softly even as he fought the urge to sneeze. From somewhere outside the window, the cockerels started to crow. Were they nearby? He leaned forwards in his seat, craning to see beyond the treetops, hoping to finally catch a glimpse of the elusive poultry.

"Is sitting by the window going to distract you from your work?"

Jason jumped at the voice and hastily sat back in his seat. "No, I'm fine." He tried to look suitably sincere and made a pointed show of putting his head down and staring hard at his page. Jason could feel Minos' eyes watching him appraisingly for a moment or two longer before finally, the king returned to his own work. Minutes ticked by in Jason's head as his eyes sought to identify the lines and squiggles of the lettering and then piece the words together in the correct order. Vague sentence-like structures started to emerge from the page but Jason had little clue whether the names he was reading were correctly translated or not. Still, he scribbled it down, praying it would not be returned to him in thinly-veiled disgust. He was periodically given oral tests, by Acrion, to see how his skills were improving and Jason had quickly learnt that failure was accompanied by unpleasant consequences – usually time alone, meant for nothing but study. Pasiphae had softened and warmed in many ways since his first arrival but with his schooling, she remained stubbornly draconian.

A sudden rap at the door made him jump. Minos, it appeared, had been expecting it.

"Enter," he called. When the door opened a man in fine green robes walked through, carrying a collection of papers. It took Jason a moment to place him but he soon recognised the man's sharp, angular face and fair hair as one of the men responsible for organising the Games. As the man strode past Jason's table and stopped in-front of Minos, he spared a quick, puzzled glance in the boy's direction. Jason watched him for a moment before he caught the pointed look Minos was sending his way and with a repressed sigh, diverted his attention back to his studies.

The man and Minos sat and talked for what had to be close to an hour, Jason estimated. Building works were described, plans for festivities and for worship developed. The man talked eagerly though the king's responses were limited to far shorter, far less enthusiastic responses. As Jason idly scribbled away on more of his parchments, he tried very hard not to eavesdrop though it was nearly impossible to ignore a conversation happening mere feet away. Ignore it though, he must. Finally, after a terse dismissal from the king, the blonde man rose, bowed and took his leave, casting another, slightly disdainful glance in Jason's direction as he went. He was, certainly it appeared, unused to strange boys sharing the king's Council Chambers.

Once the ornate wooden doors had shut behind him, Jason fought hard to fix his attention back on the page, feeling sure Minos would inspect his work for completion. The last thing he wanted, after dinner, was to be delayed in meeting his friend. Minutes continued to tick by and though he tried to focus on the page instead the young man found himself casting surreptitious glances towards where the king still sat, scratching out a few words on the odd bit of paper and, just as quickly, crossing them out again in bold, angry lines. Would this be an opportune time to suggest that they did not bother with the rituals of the family meal when Jason was the only (loosely-termed) family member present? His knee began to bob impatiently under the table. The more the idea swam around his mind, the more Jason wanted to be gone after his work was completed.

Minos sighed once more in frustration and Jason began to absently worry his lower lip between his teeth. The king's mood seemed unpredictable. He was clearly frustrated and perhaps, Jason thought, unhappy. Whenever_ he_ was unhappy, Pythagoras would gently probe to find out the cause. Jason hesitated. Would it be proper for him to do the same? He imagined, for a second, an outraged little Pythagoras, sitting on his shoulder, clearly shocked by his friend's lack of compassion for the troubles of another. Then he imagined a rather more red-faced mini-Hercules on the other, insisting in no uncertain terms that you don't stick your nose into the business of the king! Jason couldn't help smiling to himself.

"Jason?"

Jason nearly jumped in his seat as his eyes shot to where Minos was regarding him. "Is your work finished?"

It was with some surprise that Jason glanced down at his papers, the word '_No_' already forming on his lips, and realised that he was, in fact, at the bottom of his page and that, though the answers were dubious at best, he had more or less completed the exercises. Quickly Jason shuffled through the other papers and was pleased to find haphazard scribblings on all of them. The fact that he could not remember working on half of them did _not_ bode well for their quality but on this matter, the young man was unconcerned.

"Yes," he answered and he held up the papers in question. Minos narrowed his eyes, suspiciously and Jason tried to smile. Before he could request to inspect them more closely, Jason ventured: "Is everything all right, Your Highness?" A flicker of surprise registered on the king's lined face and for a moment his dark eyes were curious, even a little puzzled. Jason held his breath, suddenly wishing he had listened to mini-Hercules and kept his big mouth shut. Clearly, he had over-stepped his bounds. However, just as he prepared to back himself out of the corner, Minos responded.

"You were listening to my conversation with Seminos?"

Immediately, Jason's face paled. "Uh…no. I wasn't. Really. I was..."

The king raised an eyebrow at him and though the gesture was pointed, there was a certain element of mirth suddenly shining through his eyes. Jason flushed and glanced down at the table. "Yes Sire. Some of it. Though I didn't _mean_ to. I'm sorry." However, his step-father waved a dismissive hand.

"I cannot see how you might have sat there and _not_ heard it." He sighed once more and Jason recognised that sign by now as the one the man usually employed right before he launched himself into another round of private, pensive consternation. But rather than retreating back to his solitude, the king surprised him. "This is not the first time Atlantis has held athletic contests such as this. We have had _much success_ in the past. Our name has won glory and infamy throughout the lands of Greece." Minos, Jason quickly realised, was not necessarily talking _with_ him but rather _at_ him. He was being used as a sounding board but Jason didn't mind. It was better than having to engage back. So he waited patiently and listened. "And yet," the king continued, leaning back in his chair as he turned to face Jason more squarely, "I cannot help but feel…disheartened. As though the heart of Atlantis is not truly shining through. It feels stale. Tired." He barked a short, soft laugh. "Or perhaps I am merely describing myself?"

"Does the statue of Zeus _have to go_ in the Agora?" Jason wondered. Minos sat up a little straighter in his chair and his eyes suddenly focused a little more clearly on the boy.

"Why do you ask?" Immediately, Jason gulped.

"Nothing," he insisted, turning back to his table. "Sorry – it was none of my business." His heart beat faster in his chest and he hastily began to pack away his papers, praying he had not done enough to constitute insolence.

"Jason? I do not see how packing your work away will answer my question." Jason risked a look up at Minos. The man did not look outraged. He looked…expectant. Curious. With one hand, he held up his paper. "Come here," he instructed, indicating the seat Seminos had vacated. Jason's eyes widened. That seat was, at the moment, looking awfully like an enraged Minotaur or one of the bulls he had been made to leap. His feet seemed glued to the floor, unwilling to be uprooted. But Minos still looked at him expectantly and above all else, despite his apprehension, Jason knew he could not keep the king waiting.

And so, with great trepidation and with his stomach in tight knots, Jason rose from his chair and crossed the room with measured steps until he cautiously re-seated himself next to the king. The chair felt too big for him – like he was lost inside it but as Minos moved swiftly to business, it helped Jason to do the same. He offered the plan to Jason. "You believe something is wrong?" he questioned.

"My friends were talking about some of the old games of Atlantis and they mentioned something about a statue being erected for the games before." Minos nodded.

"To honour Zeus, the Father-God and to glorify the Games with a monument."

"Yes. Well, you see, the people…they don't really like it."

Minos inhaled, sharply and so Jason hastily continued. "It's not that they didn't like the monument! But right in the middle of the Agora? No-one could get around it and it attracted a lot of crowds." He watched in relief as the king's expression softened though a look of curiosity had replaced it. Jason leant forwards and pointed to the map of Atlantis. "You see – right here is where most of the sellers have their stalls and it's also one of the busiest crossroads in the city. When it gets blocked, it backs people up along the side streets and they can get busy enough as it is. Good place for pickpockets too, when lots of people are crammed in to tight spaces and have to wait around." Jason glanced up at Minos who appeared to be studying the map, thoughtfully. As he hadn't been told to shut up yet, Jason pressed on.

"I've seen some of the goods the merchants are bringing in and their supply wagons are large – larger than most of the local's carts. If the monument is as large as your man says it is, then putting it there will mean they won't have room to manoeuvre round it. That means the docks will get backed up because the goods won't clear them quickly and with all the extra boats coming in, that's going to create even more problems." He paused. "A few guards down by the harbour might be good to help keep tempers down – there can be trouble with so many people coming and going."

Finally, Jason stopped talking. He felt like he had been giving a speech and was suddenly feeling extremely awkward. Minos still studied the map, a line creasing his forehead. Was he offended? Jason couldn't tell.

"So if the city centre will cause problems," the king said, thoughtfully, "where would you suggest? The people must still come to make their offerings and dedications there. It must still shine as a beacon to the Gods and to the glory of the city." He turned to look at Jason, seeing perhaps for the first time, the intelligence behind those hazel eyes. The boy was clearly unsure of himself, Minos realised but his perspective was one he had not considered. Jason glanced from the map to the king, his eyes asking silent permission to take a closer look at it. Minos nodded and Jason slid the map closer to him and, for a moment, ran his gaze over it.

"Here," he said, finally. He pointed to a hill, just above the city. Minos followed his direction and gave a slight frown.

"Watch Hill? It is no-where near the city _or_ the stadium. Why would you suggest such a place?"

Jason quickly traced his finger from the harbour and along some wavy lines, leading up to the hill and then another set of lines leading down from it. "But it overlooks both. When I used to work at the Harbour, many of the visitors would use its path to bypass the city when it was busy. There's a path leading to it from the Harbour and there are paths that lead down from the hill, towards the fields where the Stadium is. If you built it there, people could look _up_ from the city to see it over them and when they were up there…"

"They may look _down_ on the grandeur of the Stadium," Minos finished.

Jason tried not to shrug his shoulders in place of a verbal response, aware that was yet another habit that his mother was trying to break him of. "You could use torches, light it up at night – it could be a landmark – something visitors would spot from a distance."

"You seem to know a bit about this," Minos wondered, almost suspiciously, staring intently at his step-son.

Jason shrugged before he could stop himself. "Where I came from," he started, hesitantly, "I used to do things like this." He nodded towards the plan and Minos' expression piqued with interest. "I mean I only really _trained_ in it – hadn't really had a proper job. Not much more than work experience really but I _do_ have a _little_ experience." The young man trailed off, the king's sudden interest making him feel as though he had said too much, painted himself in false colours. The last thing Jason wanted to do was to fail Minos but _why_, he wasn't quite sure. Minos' eyes now held a distinct gleam within them.

"You build cities?" he almost demanded. So many emotions seemed to underlie that question: incredulity; wariness; appreciation. Jason immediately felt the need to back-pedal. "_No_," he said. "No, I just learnt how to _design_ them. And I never really did _that_, either. I…I had to leave there, before I had a chance."

Still though, Minos' interest did not dwindle. "A fine quality," the king said quietly, causing an indefinable rise in Jason's chest. Then he suddenly reached across to a small side table, picked up a little silver bell and rang it. Jason sat back in silence, watching uncertainly. Within seconds, the doors to the room opened and a male servant stepped through. The man bowed and then awaited his instructions.

"Send word to Minister Seminos immediately. He and his workmen are to be ready for an inspection of the sites tomorrow morning." The servant nodded his understanding. "I shall be reviewing his plans with my step-son. See that the horses are saddled." At that pronouncement, though the servant merely bowed one final time and left the room, Jason practically shot back in his seat. His eyes were wide and he was sure his face had paled several shades. Accompany Minos? Inspect plans? Who the hell was _he_ to be doing _that_? The ministers generally looked at him as something the wind had blown in off the streets and if he was being honest, Jason didn't consider himself a whole lot higher.

"_Me_?" he asked Minos once they were alone again. "Your Highness, I really don't know…"

"I merely wish you to observe," Minos cut in, one hand raised to stall the boy's protests. His voice was firm, brooking no room for an argument even as he attempted to allay the boy's fears. "You will accompany me, listen to the plans thus far and form your opinions. I shall ask you for them at a later time and then we may incorporate any changes necessary. That does not sound too tasking, surely?"

Jason felt his head swim. There was far more to Minos' task – far greater implications for him, than the king was aware. But _voicing_ those fears? Jason hesitated. "I appreciate being included, Sire. But I don't see how my opinion is going to make any difference."

"And I am not saying that it _will_. But you possess an eye for these proceedings that has so far been missing. The view of the people, of the citizens." Minos paused, his keen gaze fixed on Jason and when he spoke again, Jason was almost taken aback at the honest sincerity in the king's words. "These games are _for_ the citizens of Atlantis. This is _their_ city, these are _their_ athletes, their _honour_. Who should these arrangements benefit, if not them?" For just a moment, Jason looked anew at Minos. Though the imposing king still sat before him, for the first time since arriving at the palace, Jason saw too, the father of Ariadne. Her values, her morals – perhaps they weren't hers alone?

He looked away and swallowed. "I see what you mean. I mean: Yes, Your Highness."

Then Minos smiled at him – just briefly, but it was the first time Jason recalled him doing so. "Excellent. We shall be leaving shortly after breakfast so I shall cancel your day's lessons." At that, despite his apprehension, Jason did feel the first signs of appreciation towards the outing. Minos noted the smile that had suddenly graced his step-son's face and he felt his own lips twitch in one corner. "But you must ensure you keep up with your studies or your mother will have both our heads on her return." And though his voice was firm, Jason was sure he detected a note of humour beneath it. He nodded his head in what he hoped was a solemn manner.

"Absolutely, Your Majesty."

"Good." Then Minos suddenly rang the bell again, causing Jason to start. When the servant reappeared, Minos said, "Do not lay supper out in the Dining Room tonight. We shall be eating in here. We will start with some wine." Jason tried not to let his surprise or his disappointment show on his face. Bang went his chances of disappearing before dinner and meeting Hercules early. He tried not to sigh. Minos had, after all, been unaware of his intentions. The servant bowed once more and left. Then Minos turned briskly to Jason. "I see little point in filling a dining room with just the two of us," he remarked. "We shall be just as comfortable in here and you may tell me more of these studies you undertook in your homelands and of your ideas." He gave Jason a piercing, knowing look. "You _must_ have more," he pressed, almost accusingly.

There was something…_unexpected_ in the question: a change that was jarred, deep inside him. He was _noticed_ – not for wearing the wrong clothes or walking in the wrong place or simply for his ignorance. And despite his initial disappointment and despite the daunting prospect of having Minos' undivided attention for the first time since coming to stay at the Palace, Jason sat a little taller, albeit with his fingers pressed under his legs.

* * *

That's it for now. Thanks for reading this far. I hope you enjoyed it. I'd really appreciate just a couple of words to know what you think. For those who love Jason and Pasiphae, trust me, so do I and she is on her way back! But I wanted to give Minos a little time to get to know his step-son as well. I hope people don't mind too much.


	7. Chapter 7

The Road Ahead

Standard disclaimer still applies.

A/N – Thank you to everyone who has left reviews and helped me to get the next chapter out. _Ash_ – I'm really glad you enjoyed Chapter 6 – hopefully this one won't disappoint too much and _Angel_ – yes, we all have the subject we struggle with! Jason's no exception. I'm glad you ended up enjoying the Minos interactions – Pasiphae's absence was the push he needed to get to know his stepson. I really hope people enjoy this one.

Chapter 7

"To your left…your _left_, Hercules! _No_ – your _other_ left!" With a crash and a cry, the edge of the barrel hit the cobbled stone ground and Jason hastily yet carefully lowered his own side down to meet it.

Opposite him, Hercules straightened, red-faced and huffing. He placed his hands on the small of his back and stretched out, wincing as he did so. "Fat lot of good _you_ are," the large man accused.

"_Me_? I'm not the one who's confused by simple directions," Jason protested though a smile had already transformed his accusation into playful mockery. "And _you_ were the one who dropped it."

Hercules ignored his young friend. "I'd have been better off asking the lass who was busy swooning at you on the corner by the docks." Jason blushed. He was rather hoping Hercules hadn't noticed, as they had been busy half-rolling and half-lifting the man-sized barrels along the dark streets from the harbour at the time. But in retrospect, expecting Hercules _not_ to notice a lady, particularly a scantily-clad lady, when she was within sniffing distance was like expecting a stray dog not to chase an alley cat. "I bet _she's_ got a good grip." Hercules wiggled his eyebrows and Jason just rolled his eyes at his friend's less than subtle innuendos. Then Hercules suddenly sighed heavily and wiped the sweat off his brow with his arm. "How many have we done?" he demanded, for what had to have been the tenth time that evening.

Jason tried hard not to let his exasperation show through in his response. "Two."

Hercules sighed again and sat down on the waiting barrel. He thought about Jason's answer and his face creased in exhaustion. "And how many more do we have to shift?"

"_Ten_." Hercules glanced up at his friend's tone with a surprised look. Apparently Jason wasn't trying _that_ hard. Relenting a little, Jason tried to cajole his friend's spirits. "But we're nearly a quarter of the way through. And once we're past the cobbles, we can just roll it down to the warehouse. That bit's easy." He gave his friend a wide, easy smile, even as Hercules grunted in response.

"Come on, _Grandpa_!" Jason teased. "I've never met a wine barrel yet that got the better of Hercules!" He grinned as Hercules shot up standing, indignation replacing his exhaustion. The man stabbed a hefty finger in Jason's direction.

"Oi! Scamp! Don't think you won't be getting a clip round the ear for being cheeky, just because you're living in the Palace now." Jason laughed as he watched his burly friend puff up. Hercules scowled, lightly and muttered: "_Grandpa_, my foot! You come close enough my lad and I'll show you what this old man can do. You'll be sleeping on your stomach, I promise you." But even as he grumbled, Hercules bent down again and grasped the corners of the barrel and seeing his cue, Jason did the same. Before long, they had once more hefted the barrel between them and half-walked, half-stumbled down the uneven surface of the little side-road, the liquid inside sloshing one way then the other until finally, the ground changed to soft grass and they gratefully let the barrel come to rest on it. Jason stood and massaged the sting out of his fingers for a second. He noticed Hercules doing the same, shaking out the cramp in his hand.

"You know I can't stay and help you guard them," Jason suddenly said, hints of guilt and regret in his tone. Hercules glanced over to where the few torches that were burning along the roadside showed the boy's contrite expression. Waving away the lad's concern, Hercules replied:

"To be perfectly honest, Jason, I wasn't expecting you to be allowed to come here in the first place." He paused, thoughtfully. "I certainly wouldn't have expected _Minos_ to agree to it. You were lucky there."

Jason snorted and suddenly moved to roll the barrel onto its side so that it could be easily rolled the rest of the way to the warehouse. His abrupt actions surprised Hercules a little. "I still can't help you keep watch though," Jason protested. "Now that I have to be up in time for this…_tour_, Minos wants me back by midnight." His face had fallen into shades of apprehension and shadow. Hercules noted with a sigh, the dark worry that filled the boy's normally carefree eyes. His young face suddenly appeared quite gaunt in the oil lighting, his dark curls limply framing it.

"Hey now," Hercules attempted to console, a touch awkwardly. "It won't be as bad as you're imagining. It never is. You listen to what they say, stay out of the way and then give your answers when you're back in the Palace. You'll be alright. Just keep wittering on about the usual things you talk about that Pythagoras and I haven't a clue what it means. The gods only know why but Minos seems to like it." The older man placed a hand on Jason's shoulder and gave it a light squeeze. Wincing slightly, Jason gently pulled away.

"I suppose," Jason agreed, reluctantly. "But it's not just the tour itself. I have to ride out with the king."

"Well then it's a good thing you've finally stopped falling off your horse because _that_ would be embarrassing."

Jason threw his hands into the air in frustration. "But don't you _get it_?" he exclaimed. "People are going to _see_! They're going to see _me_ with _Minos_." He stopped and looked imploringly at Hercules, willing him to understand. Of course Hercules understood. The bigger man thought about his response. Yes, he understood. He had _understood_ this would happen from the moment Jason announced the details of Pasiphae's contract. He had known this was troubling the boy when Jason had first announced Minos' plan. It was an inevitable, unenviable eventuality of the boy's predicament and try as he may, Hercules could not think of a means to fix it for him. He knew, without a doubt, that he would give his right arm to keep his boys happy and safe. But in this case…

He walked slowly around the barrel until he stood next to the dark-haired lad and once more placed a light arm around the boy's shoulders. Jason ducked his head miserably but he didn't pull away and since they were unobserved and alone, Hercules risked pulling Jason ever so slightly towards him. "Yes. Anyone watching for those few seconds when you ride by, will see you with Minos." He watched Jason's expression carefully and noticed the twitch of his eye. "And some of them might even bother to wonder who you are and what you were doing. But the chances are that they have far more to do in their day then to speculate about a strange boy riding through Atlantis as, I'm guessing, part of a large crowd of people going with the king." He gave Jason a gentle shake. "Am I right?"

And Jason thought about it and a tiny flicker of hope lit up his face. "There _will_ be lots of people," he said slowly, the realisation coming late to him. "Minos has _loads_ of ministers and _they_ have servants of their own." His expression became thoughtful and the more Jason thought about it, the brighter his countenance became. Hercules felt a warmth spread in his own barrel-like chest and he smiled in fond exasperation.

"You see? You could be _anyone_ in that group. An advisor – _if_ you had any worthwhile advice to give, that is. You could be an _assistant_ advisor. The stable-boy. You're not going to wear a sign saying 'Stepson of the King', are you? Or 'Son of the Queen who is possibly a Witch?" Jason laughed softly and shook his head.

"No."

Hercules clapped him on the back. "So there you go then." Then he moved to the other side of the barrel. "Now come on. We can't leave those wine barrels sitting by the boat for too long or the merchandise will be stolen before we've even got it to the warehouse." Jason laughed and positioned himself just in-front of the wooden cask to stop it hurtling down the grassy slope.

"That would be a first," he agreed with a laugh, "even for us."

* * *

As the next day dawned, the sky emerged a clear blue and the sun inched higher, strong and golden. A light breeze picked up the leaves of the trees and wafted out the silk wall hangings inside the palace. Apprehensive about the day ahead, Jason had grazed distractedly at his breakfast. It had become a meal that he frequently circumvented by rising late and going straight to morning lessons but today, Minos insisted on his presence. It made sense, Jason guessed – they were both heading to the same place afterwards. Still, if his apprehension was starting to tie his stomach in knots a wave of amusement still managed to wash the worst of it away.

It was fair to say, Jason had decided, that not only were the king's ministers and their men _not_ impressed to be recalled to the sites within hours of their last report, but as more and more suspicious eyes spied him in their ranks the louder the mumblings grew and the glances darkened. Who was _he_? This boy coming out of no-where? What in the Gods' names was he doing interfering with affairs he clearly knew nothing about? Jason chuckled quietly to himself. While it was true, he _was_ anxious to impress Minos – well if not _impress_, than at least not to make a complete fool of himself – Jason had no such worries about the ministers, puffed up with their own importance. He grinned openly at Seminos' glare as the troop assembled in the Palace courtyard. Minos was the last to emerge and on seeing the king some of Jason's nonchalance slipped and his anxiety returned.

Horses stamped their hooves impatiently as the group waited for Minos to mount up before they followed suit. The courtyard's gates were opened and Jason swallowed, rather painfully in his dry, scratchy throat. He fought a tickle that threatened to bubble up into a hacking cough. Now in the company of his ministers, Minos was all business, every inch the king. Watching him sit tall in the saddle of his horse, deep in counsel with his men, Jason felt distinctly disconnected from the stepfather who had shared his breakfast and exchanged speculation with him on how much longer his mother was likely to be away. But, the young man suddenly realised, this was exactly what he wanted right now – what he _needed_. Quickly and quietly, Jason led his horse to the back of the group, planted his foot in the stirrup and swung his leg over. With a shout from the front of the men, Minos set off, flanked by his guards and one by one, the others spurred into action. Jason left last, hanging as far back from the group as he could which was not an easy task as he had been given a horse that clearly did _not_ like to be behind anyone and all but head-butted the horses in front in its effort to pass.

"Oh no you don't," Jason muttered to the chestnut mare, pulling back on the reins. "You and I are bringing up the rear so just get used to it."

In this way, travelling through the city passed with relative ease and Jason was immensely glad to note that Hercules had been right: true, the crowd had parted for Minos' approach, much as _he_ would have done had he been amongst them, but the citizens of Atlantis had far more pressing things on their minds than identifying each and every member of the entourage. Quickly and with minimal fuss, the people dispersed to their morning rituals: herding animals to market, hauling baskets of freshly caught fish from the harbour, collecting the day's milk and bread. A dark-haired boy on a thoroughly impatient horse ranked very low on their daily concerns.

For most of the venues, Jason had been able to hang back very much out of sight. Minos walked ahead, his guards and closest advisors with him. Partly through a desire for anonymity and partly, he had to admit, out of boredom, Jason found himself lagging behind though trying to keep an ear on the proceedings. Every now and then Jason would look up from his wanderings and catch Minos' dark eye. The king would say nothing but raise an eyebrow at how far Jason had fallen behind and he immediately jogged to catch up. The silent communication worked and Jason appreciated its discretion.

However, when they arrived at Watch Hill, the grumbling and speculation amongst the men increased and Minos, Jason found was now actively searching him out. "Jason!" he called. With one inclination of his head, he beckoned him closer. Jason cast a quick glance about him as he made his way over to where the king stood at the edge of the hill, looking out over his city below. Several of the men parted company for him, their eyes trailing him as he moved and Jason tried hard to focus his attention on Minos and no-where else. "Helos, our chief architect, seems to agree with your assessment." He indicated a middle-aged man who was standing next to him. "He sees good potential in it." There was a definite hint of pride in Minos' voice and Jason glanced over to Helos. Minos clapped a hand on Jason's shoulder. "I want you to talk your ideas through with him and his men." Despite his apprehension, Jason nodded, trying to appear more confident than he felt. _Ideas_ were one thing but he had little experience of applying them in Ancient Greece.

Helos turned and nodded, respectfully to Jason. "The ground in this area is flat and deceptively wide. The ascent of the hill is gentle and a path has been cut into the hillside which would allow good access for our carts and horses." He indicated the way up with his arm. Jason followed his gaze.

"It might be an idea to line the path with torches," Jason suggested. "People could be coming and going at all hours and it's a bit tricky if you can't see."

"That can easily be done."

For a second, Jason glanced to Minos, still seeking that silent approval to go on. The king's face remained passive, alert though the faintest of smiles lightened the set of his mouth. The corner of Jason's own mouth hooked up in a smile. He turned back to Helos. "It's going to be hot, coming up here in the day. Could we build stalls for refreshment?"

Helos turned to survey the ground, a slight frown across his forehead. "You mean like a tavern"? Jason quickly shook his head.

"No, no. Nothing like that. Just water and things." Helos' expression softened once more and began to look thoughtful.

"That could be done," he agreed.

Jason then pointed to one edge of the hill. "That's a steep drop and the earth is loose. You might want to fence that off – lots of kids running around if people come with their families." Suddenly he felt another warm hand on his back and turned to look at Minos.

"It appears you two have details to discuss. I shall leave this with you." Then without another word, Minos left them to continue their plans before Jason could even think to utter a protest. And so he didn't. Instead he took a deep breath, turned back to Helos and the few men who had gathered round them and between them, plans were hashed out, ideas exchanged and Jason found himself happily working within the group.

* * *

"You did well today."

The last of the advisors and their men had finally dispersed as the entourage had wound its way back through the city – a colourful snake of bright silks and stamping horses – until at last, only Jason and Minos were left, along with the Palace guards, to return to the Palace. Without the men to swell their numbers, Jason had been forced to ride beside his step-father but the paths they took were not crowded and the Palace drew nearer rapidly so he did not mind too much.

The young man ducked his head, unused to the praise. "Thank-you."

Minos raised an eyebrow as he looked at the boy. "You must not fall behind," he added, the hint of reprimand in his tone, "and you must learn not to be overly-_familiar_ with the men we are dealing with." He paused and then smiled. "But all of that can be learnt in time. For your first engagement, however unofficial, you did very well."

Again, that warm clench at his centre of his chest surprised Jason and he smiled, shyly, his head down. Today had been good in the end, despite his fears and despite being thrown into the deep end when he hadn't been expecting it. Jason half-wondered if that had been Minos' plan all along: to have him work directly with Helos and his men. He wouldn't put it past the man but oddly, Jason wasn't annoyed by the deception. Had he known that Minos would put him on the spot, he'd have been obsessing about it all night. Minos watched his step-son, silently for a moment, a fond smile at the back of his mind.

The boy seemed unused to praise or perhaps it was just attention. Either way, he must overcome this in time and learn to keep his head up high. A prince should not appear cowed and uncertain of himself. But, he mused, this would come and he had to admit, he found the boy's shyness to be endearing. The boy was not brash or sullen. Minos' thoughts travelled briefly to Heptarian and the differences between the two were astounding. For a moment, the king wondered at how he had taken Heptarian's confidence for anything _less_ than arrogance. No, Jason was an altogether different young man: rough and unpolished but honest and with a sense of humour that Minos found…refreshing. It might be nice, he wondered, to have a little more laughter back in the Palace. He would always remember the first time he had witnessed his stepson tease his mother with an easy-going audacity that she had never encountered: the look of stupefied shock on Pasiphae's face as she had tried to work out what had been said to her had been priceless.

Sensing its stable was nearby and realising it could be at the front of the procession Jason's horse suddenly tried to put on a desperate spurt to take the lead and Jason groaned as he pulled her back for the twentieth time that ride. He glanced apologetically to the king, well-aware that it was not the done thing to try and overtake him.

"I promise I'm not trying to race you," he sighed. "She's been trying to get to the front of the line _all day_. Now that most of the other horses are gone, she thinks she has a chance."

Minos laughed. He leaned over and patted the mare's neck. "Ambition is a fine thing," he chuckled, "and she knows her hay is waiting for her." Jason grinned, relieved the king had not taken offence. The horse snorted as Jason sat deeper in his saddle, holding her back but obligingly slowed her clipped pace. Minos gave her neck one last pat. "Is he holding you back, my dear?"

"He's _trying_ to," Jason grunted, quietly. "She's a little stubborn."

"So is her rider."

The king's assessment startled Jason momentarily, his eyes widening. There had been a definite hint of amusement in the king's voice and the boy would never have assumed his stubbornness would have been a quality that Minos treated lightly. Ignoring this, Minos remarked:

"I have much to organise for the events themselves and with the visiting dignitaries." Jason nodded. "I am therefore going to leave the needs of the citizens and the crowd to Helos and his men but I want _you_ to oversee them."

"Me?" Jason squeaked in shock. "My Lord, I don't know anything about organising things like this. I mean, Helos has all the practical knowledge and I would just get in the way or get it wrong, or..."

Minos raised a hand and immediately, Jason stopped babbling though his expression was far from happy. "You worked well with Helos and his men today," Minos began, his voice firm but calming. "They _listened_ to you and you to them. Your ideas were refreshing. You understand the needs of the people and how to make this experience both enjoyable and efficient for them. I am not expecting you to do this by yourself. Helos is more than capable of leading his own men and doing what must be done. But sometimes decisions must be made – advice given. Normally this all comes to me and I can assure you, Jason, I know as much of these things as you do."

He laughed at the outright look of disbelief and doubt that Jason shot him. It was bordering on sarcasm and on anyone else, he might have construed that as insolence. But on his stepson, the gods help him, he found it amusing. "We must all of us learn _sometime_, Jason," he insisted, firmly.

The lad nodded his head faintly, feeling a little queasy. "I guess so," he admitted in an unsteady voice. Seeing the boy's lingering reluctance, Minos sighed gently and pulled up his horse. Jason halted his own, with a little more effort as the guards moved into a slightly more protective formation around them.

"I have much to do, Jason, dealing with matters of the Games themselves. It would help me immensely, if you could take this smaller burden off my shoulders." His dark eyes met Jason's uncertain ones and once again, he felt a pang endearment towards the boy. Along with his honesty there was a certain _vulnerability_ as well. "I am always here if you need advice but I would like you to liaise with Helos and oversee the developments – make sure building work is progressing well and if there are problems, you may bring them to my attention." He paused. "Does that seem fair?"

Was it fair? Jason considered the question. Instinctively, he felt the answer was _no_. No, it was _not_ fair! What did _he_ know about being in charge of _anything_? He had only agreed to move to the Palace to get to know Pasiphae and his extended family. This was way beyond the original expectations. If Pasiphae were there, she would support him. But she wasn't there. She was dealing with these blasted Games – an envoy of Minos. She was doing _her_ part. In his head, Jason suddenly sighed, realising how selfish his thoughts were sounding. Was it _fair_ to dump it all back on the king? The man looked just about ready for a nervous breakdown and they were still a good number of centuries away from a decent psychiatrist. And he would be getting support, if he asked for it.

"I can do that," he said, finally. "I just don't want to let you down."

Minos shook his head. "You will never know until you try and I would not task you with this if I felt it too much." He paused and rolled his eyes. "Your mother would never let me hear the end of it." Jason chuckled.

"I could start tomorrow morning," he suggested.

"You have lessons tomorrow morning. The afternoon will be time enough." Minos kicked his horse back to walking, causing an immediate whinny and a jump from Jason's. Tugging hard on the reins, Jason kept the mare from her imminent canter and drew up alongside the king as they finished their journey home.

"But the Games are _important_, Your Majesty and I wouldn't want to…"

"The afternoon will be _more than sufficient_, Jason," Minos interrupted, levelling a very firm look at the boy. Jason ducked his head when he saw the knowing expression. "I did _not _become a father yesterday," the king remarked, dryly, even as the corners of his eyes creased in amusement. And with that, he spurred his horse on to a gallop towards the Palace, leaving Jason behind. For a moment, the boy shook his head and laughed softly to himself before he kicked his horse on and finally allowed the mare the gallop she had been itching for all day.

* * *

That's it for now! Thanks for reading this far.


	8. Chapter 8

The Road Ahead

Standard disclaimer applies – I don't own any of them.

A/N – thank you for all your kind reviews and the support and to _Ash_ and _Angel_ – yes, things will change once more people find out who Jason is, that's for sure (though I don't think the poor boy is ready for the whole of Atlantis to find out just yet!)

Chapter 8

"How's it looking?"

From where he stood, knee-deep in the channel, Jason looked up at the men on the bank, throwing one hand over his face to shield his eyes from the sun's bright glare. His father craned his neck to one side, eyes tracking the river's flow. Jason held his breath, eagerly watching his father's and the other men's expressions. This was the last of the channels and he had been anxious that the water pressure wouldn't be strong enough. The carpenters of the group had worked hard to construct water-wheels to help aid the flow. Finally, a smile spread across Aeson's face.

"You're going to get wet standing there," he remarked, wryly. Jason grinned and it wasn't long before the sound of gushing water could be heard, followed moments later by the first torrents of water. As it flooded past Jason, it pushed him off-balance and he tumbled over into the water where he sat, laughing. Some of the lepers gave a small cheer and clapped each other on the back. Water now flowed to the settlement and to the fields – no more trudging down to the river with buckets. A few murmured their thanks to Jason but though he acknowledged their gratitude with a friendly nod, he was too distracted by the water gushing around him to pay them much attention.

Jason glanced up again to his father who was shaking his head fondly. The young man gave an embarrassed laugh. "So," Aeson remarked, "what are you going to do with yourself now the channels are finished?"

Now thoroughly soaked, Jason shrugged, fighting off a shiver. "I'll think of something."

A woman's voice tsked in exasperation from off to the side of them. "For goodness sake, help him out of the water, Tychon before a chill sets in." With a half salute to old Myrtle, Aeson reached a hand down to the water for Jason to grasp and then hauled his son back onto the bank. For a moment Aeson surveyed his son's sopping clothes and hair and laughed, gently.

"Look at the state of you," he chided, softly. Jason looked down at himself and grinned, wrapping his arms about his chest. "So what are you going to do next?" his father asked. Jason's eyes lit up eagerly as his gaze travelled along the newly dug channel.

"I'm going to check everything's flowing properly and that there aren't any problems further down."

A sharp voice harrumphed loudly, reminding Jason very much of a female Hercules. "If you do _anything_ before you sit down in-front of a roaring fire and dry yourself out, I'll box your ears!" Both men turned to see Myrtle plant her hands on her hips and her heels into the muddy ground. She levelled a glare at the young man whose mouth hung open in embarrassed surprise for a moment longer. Then, with a knowing smile he remarked to his father:

"I'm going to sit by a fire and dry out."

Aeson laughed. "You _do _surprise me, son." Myrtle shook her head and placed a firm hand between Jason's shoulder blades, starting to propel him back to where she had a large fire crackling outside her home. Jason obligingly allowed her to lead him on and as they passed Aeson, the woman threw one last look over her shoulder.

"And you can make yourself useful and bring him a drink."

Jason chuckled at his father's eye-roll and leaned in closer to him, smiling impishly. "I'll have mine with a slice of lemon."

"Don't push it," Aeson warned lightly, giving the boy a gentle shove towards Myrtle who was standing, waiting somewhat impatiently a few feet away.

Though Jason knew the way by now he still followed the woman as she wove her way back to her shelter and firmly sat Jason down on a log by the fire. She quickly made him remove his sandals and drew his feet up to rest on some rugs by the fire. Then she gave a quick tug at the shoulders of his tunic as she bustled around him, laying more logs on the fire and gathering more blankets from the house. Jason rolled his eyes, much like his father had just done though he made more of an effort to conceal the gesture. He _would_ have been embarrassed but Myrtle was so determined on her task and so brisk that there really wasn't _time_ to think about embarrassment. So, Jason obligingly pulled his tunic over his head and no sooner had he done so, then it was whisked out of his hands and a blanket wrapped snugly around his shoulders. _Very_ snugly. Jason made a brief move to let the blanket drop to his waist but a sharp clip to the back of his head made him yelp and immediately tug the blanket back up. He glanced sheepishly to Myrtle who had levelled a pointed frown at him. On seeing his expression however, her frown softened and the older woman shook her head, chuckling softly as she laid his wet clothes over drying racks near the fire.

A noise to his left startled him and Jason glanced over to see his father watching him, amusement twinkling in his eyes. "It was a foolish attempt, Jason. Myrtle sees everything. You should know that by now." Jason blushed and looked away as the lady herself returned from the drying rack. She spied Aeson and the cup of milk in his hand.

"Ah, good," she remarked, taking the drink from him and handing it to the boy. "Get that down you while I get the bread from the stove." Then she was off again, faintly singing to herself as she busied about the kitchen. Jason listened to her with a smile, taking sips of his drink. She had a pleasant voice: it was softer than her mannerisms would have led him to believe. He sometimes wondered if Pasiphae had ever done anything like sing him to sleep when he was a baby. He supposed she might have done. Jason found himself wondering what his mother's singing voice would sound like. For some reason, he imagined it would be quite comforting…beautiful even.

"So," he heard Myrtle's voice calling from inside the house, "how is the final construction going for these Games? The Opening Ceremony must be nearly upon us now." She said 'us' as though she and the rest of the leper community were still an active part of Atlantean life, as though they walked amongst its citizens and still shared in its pride and glory. Jason liked that. The prevalent attitude of the lepers, his father included, was that the outside world, the city they once knew, had nothing to interest them. He found old Myrtle's attitude to be a refreshing change.

"It is," he confirmed, twisting his head round to face her direction more easily. "Five days now." From where he stood listening, leaning against the side of the house, Aeson nodded, thoughtfully.

"You've been working hard on it," Myrtle called. "The king is lucky to have you on his committee." Jason shifted a little uncomfortably, noticing the shadow that fell across Aeson's face.

"Uh…yes. Well, I don't do much really. Just advise here and there. I'm really just a tiny part of things. I don't make a difference."

"Nonsense." Once more, she popped out of the doorway, a tray of freshly baked loaves in her arms and the smell immediately had Jason salivating. She marched up to him and plopped a small loaf in his hands, wrapped in a towel. A jar of honey was promptly placed next to it. "Doesn't matter how small, everyone makes a difference and you've got a good eye for these things, hasn't he, Tychon?" She looked up to Jason's father, a loaf in her hands, hovering in mid-air. Jason got the distinct impression that if his father didn't answer to her satisfaction then that loaf was going back on the tray and not into his expectant grasp.

With a small smile, Aeson nodded. "That he does," he agreed, quietly. Apparently happy with his assessment, Myrtle handed over the loaf to him with a firm nod of her head.

"Absolutely. I imagine that statue looks amazing." She came round to look directly at Jason who was blushing fiercely and gave him a warm, bright smile. "Does it? And all lit up at night?" She sighed, wistfully, a far-away look in her pale eyes. "What a sight that must be, shining through the darkness."

Jason nodded. "They did a good job building it."

"And didn't you say you were getting entertainers in for the crowds? And people to guide visitors from the docks to the stadium? That'll be useful. Don't want people wandering around a strange city – getting lost, causing problems. I'll wager they'll be popular with the crowd." Jason ducked his head and shrugged, though a shy smile had graced his youthful features.

"I hope so. Thanks." Suddenly, she patted him on the shoulder.

"Now. I'd better get these loaves around to the others before they cool too much. You eat that up and stay by this fire." Jason nodded, obediently and seeing that her charge was doing as he was told, she turned to point a finger at Aeson. "Keep an eye on him and don't you let him move from that log until his food is finished and he's dry enough for kindling." Aeson laughed and gave a short bow.

"I shall watch him like a hawk." He moved and sat down next to his son as the matronly woman treated him to a rare smile (she smiled far more often at the son than she did for the father it seemed) and hurried away, her tray securely in her arms.

Once she was gone, Jason's shoulders tensed. "I didn't tell her about Minos," he insisted quickly. "About my role in all of this. She just thinks I'm working as part of the group." He paused, hesitating. "Should I not have said anything? I'm sorry if I've caused problems." Jason glanced across, nervously to his father. Aeson's face softened when he saw his son's regret, the worry marring his face.

"Nonsense. She doesn't know your relation to Pasiphae or your connection to the Palace. There's no harm done." He reached across and patted the boy's knee. "You have done well it seems, organising the crowds in these Games." Jason grinned bashfully. "However, you must be wary of Minos." Aeson suddenly warned. Jason's smile slipped a little.

"_Wary_? Minos seems happy with the work I've done." His stomach clenched in doubt. "At least, that's what he _said_." Aeson shook his head, sadly.

"I'm sure he _is_, Jason. But you must be careful not to make yourself too popular." Jason blinked in surprise, momentarily dumbfounded.

"I…I didn't think I _was_. I was just doing what he asked me to do." Confusion and panic began to edge their way into his mind. "I wasn't trying to be popular or make myself _noticed_ or anything." A look of sheer horror at the thought that he had, consciously or unconsciously, thrust himself into the limelight and sought to booster his popularity washed over him. Aeson sighed, wearily and placed a hand on his son's shoulders, speaking slowly and quietly.

"I'm sure you haven't meant to do anything of the sort, Jason. You were just doing the job you were asked to do and knowing you, you did it to the very best of your ability." A look of pride replaced his worry for a moment and he couldn't help but smile at the boy. "But Minos will not want you to be _too_ successful. He does not like to share the stage with anyone and the more popular _you_ grow amongst the people, the more nervous and resentful _he_ will grow around you." He narrowed his eyes as a distant look crossed his face. "Never trust him, Jason. Like Pasiphae, he will seek to destroy you if he sees you as a threat. Keep your head down. Don't make waves, don't make yourself _too_ good."

With one finger, he tilted Jason's chin so that their eyes met. "Do you understand what I'm saying to you?"

His son's miserable, downcast expression made his heart ache. But he did this for the boy's own good. His son was too naïve and as his father, it was his job to protect him. Footsteps approached from outside. Jason glanced over to see Myrtle returning. Pressing his lips tightly together, Jason nodded once and Aeson released him with a gentle pat to his cheek.

"There now!" Myrtle announced cheerfully on her approach. "That's a little edge taken off their hunger till supper." Aeson straightened and stood, allowing her room to sit by her fire. As his father moved away from him, Jason watched him with sad eyes. Aeson, he had quickly realised, would never see Pasiphae and Minos as anything other than monsters. He supposed, given their history, that he couldn't blame him. But the more time passed and the closer Jason grew to both his mother _and_ his stepfather, the harder it was to share the events of his life with his father. So much of Jason's time now revolved around his lessons, with Ariadne, with the king and his mother. Amongst Hercules and Pythagoras, Jason talked freely and they shared experiences happily. But with _Aeson_… With a sinking feeling, Jason realised that when talking with his father, there was only so long the Past could stretch before he _had_ to move on to his present.

However, the sound of the empty tray being deposited back in the house with a clatter and the whirlwind of activity that accompanied Myrtle's return, forced away any lingering feelings of regret. She sat herself down in the space Aeson had vacated for her and Jason saw that she had her spinning in her hands.

"Do you want a hand with the winding?" he asked, nodding to the wool. But one glance at his hands and she tutted again in faint disapproval.

"Not until you've finished that bread," she scolded, lightly.

"That was my fault," Aeson chuckled. "I am afraid I kept him talking." He clapped a hand on Jason's shoulder. "I must go and see to some matters in any event. I'll leave you to finish drying-out, Jason and I'll see you later." Then he nodded to Myrtle. "Thank you for taking care of him." Jason tried not to sigh. Why did people think he needed taking care of all the time? Was it worth reminding people how old he was? It was starting to feel as though he was being left with a babysitter. However, Myrtle was such a lovely woman that he wouldn't dare say anything in case he hurt her feelings.

So when Aeson had left, he just smiled at his companion and began to eat his bread, dipping it in the honey to sweeten it. They sat in companionable silence for a few minutes as she spun the wool round and round on her spindle and Jason munched on his bread. "These Games of yours," Myrtle suddenly said, "they _do_ sound wonderful." Beside her, Jason was suddenly brought up short by the sadness he could hear in her voice. He turned to her, honest hazel eyes meeting hers.

"You should come," he insisted. "I could get you a good seat." For a second, the woman simply looked into his earnest eyes, her crooked mouth hanging open. And then she laughed and placed a warm, twisted hand on his cheek.

"Oh, bless you, child. You have _such_ a good heart. But I could not come. It is forbidden for lepers to cross the city limits."

Mortified embarrassment shot through Jason and he almost recoiled. How could he have _been_ so dense? There was obviously a reason these people were forced to live so far away. "I'm sorry," he stammered. Then he closed his eyes. "Talking about the Games and everything – talking about the outside world. It probably hurt you." His expression fell to his feet. "You should just tell me to shut up when I talk too much." However, a firm hand was placed on his knee.

"Now stop that," she commanded, lightly. "I have enjoyed hearing about each and every moment you have described and I won't hear another _word_ of your apologies."

"But…"

"_Not_ another word!" she reiterated, a warning finger pointed directly at him. "I would truly hate to have to box the ears of such a fine young man but I shall do if you give me no choice." Jason glanced down at his knees, abashed. He still felt guilty but if Myrtle was insistent then there was no sense in arguing the point. But still, he had felt sure there was a note of sadness in her earlier tone. Pythagoras would have been very useful here – he was good at getting people to open up.

But he nodded. "Alright." He smiled softly as she patted his hand. Then she busied herself once more with her work.

"So you must be very busy when you return to the city tomorrow. Are you looking forward to it?"

Finishing up the last of his bread, Jason wiped his fingers on his trousers and brushed the crumbs from the blanket. "Yes. My mother's coming home tomorrow." Jason hesitated a moment, checking that Aeson truly was out of earshot. "She's been away…visiting friends for a while. She was meant to be back a while ago but she got delayed."

"Oh dear. Nothing serious I hope."

"No, no. Just took a bit longer than we thought."

Myrtle smiled and sighed gently as she spun. "You must have missed her?" Jason shuffled a little awkwardly. _Had_ he missed his mother? It was a little surprising but…yes, he had. Though he would never have imagined such a thing was possible.

"Yes, I suppose I did."

The woman laughed. "You sound surprised!" she exclaimed.

Again, thinking through his response, Jason answered: "No, not really. But we…didn't always get on." He watched her expression grow sad once more. "But we do now," he hastily assured her, anxious not to see her upset though how his relationship with Pasiphae could upset her, Jason wasn't sure.

"That's good, lad. She's a very lucky woman, your mother. I'm sure you're a good son."

Jason shrugged, knowing that wasn't especially true even though he _did_ have his reasons.

"And you have a stepfather?" Myrtle pressed, giving him a knowing glance. It _hadn't_ been phrased as a question. Jason blinked in surprise, suddenly feeling nervous. Had he mentioned Minos? He was usually very careful not to mention either his mother _or_ stepfather, knowing how angry it always made Aeson to hear him mention either of them _or_ his life at the Palace.

"Um…yes," he stammered, praying he hadn't revealed too much. But Myrtle simply gave a satisfied nod, as if pleased her deduction had been correct.

"I thought as much," she remarked, lightly. "I knew I remembered seeing you with him. Though, for your father's sake, I haven't made mention of it." She gave him a reassuring wink though Jason was feeling anything _but_ reassured. Had she seen him with Minos? How in the name of the Gods did she do that? His face paled as he desperately sought a way to question her further without arousing her suspicions. Aeson would kill him if he'd somehow let this slip.

Aiming for as casual a tone as he could, Jason asked: "When did you see us?"

"Oh I was in the mines when you first arrived amongst us, _many_ months back now. Though I kept back at that time. But I saw you all together and I thought to myself then that why ever you were sheltering with us, you looked like a nice family. That _was_ your stepfather you came with wasn't it? And your stepbrother?" For a second, Jason's head, far from _stopping_ swimming swung round to swim in completely the _opposite_ direction. His thoughts ricocheted around his head and his answer tripped and stumbled on his tongue. _Denying_ her assumption meant opening her up to even more dangerous conclusions.

"Y…yes." Once answered, however, the lie sat very palatably on his tongue and though Jason _did_ feel guilty for the deception and for wrapping his friends up in the same deceit, it still made a small part of him smile. Picking up her spinning again, Myrtle continued with her work as Jason, now finished with his bread, considered leaving her to it. But just as he was rising to leave, her wistful voice stopped him in his tracks.

"I had a son once." He paused and silently re-seated himself. The woman looked over to him and Jason gave her a small, encouraging smile to show he was listening. "Phillip. He was a fine boy – strong, fast." A proud smile graced her features as her eyes shone with memories of her son. "He was a fine athlete."

Her pride made Jason, for a moment, think about his own mother and her desire to see him compete. The closer they became the guiltier he felt for denying her request but it was just a step too far – one he wasn't prepared to take yet. Instead, he gave Myrtle a sad smile. "You must be very proud." He hesitated a moment. "Did he die?"

"No," she sighed, head momentarily bowed. "No, _I_ did." Off Jason's puzzled look, she laughed softly and explained. "When the gods struck me with this disease, Phillip was becoming a fine young man. I was forced to come here and his father took him from Atlantis. I heard they moved to Crete." For a moment, her face set firm and dark. "I can't blame his father of course. He did what was best for the boy."

_Or for himself_, Jason thought, angrily. Out loud he asked: "Phillip has never come to see you here?" Myrtle shook her head:

"No. This is no place for a strong, healthy young man." She gave him a warm smile. "There aren't many of us with children like you, Jason. Tychon is very lucky. Very lucky. Actually," she added, thoughtfully, "he'd be about your age now. Maybe a few years older." Her pale eyes clouded over with buried pain. "I don't expect the boy to visit – why should he? But do you know, once – just once – I would so love to see him again. To watch him compete, before I pass to the lands below." A smile drew up one corner of her mouth. "Ah! You should have seen him run! Swift as the wind, he was. Almost as swift as Hermes himself."

Jason thought a moment: "We've got athletes from Crete in the Games."

"I remember you saying so," she agreed as her fingers once more began to twist the strands of wool.

"I have a list of the competitors," he started. "If you wanted, I could…" But she placed one finger on his lips, hushing him before he could finish.

"No, no, child. Some things are not for us to decide. Leave a silly old woman to her dreams, there's a good lad." She patted his hand decisively, one final time. There was an end to it as far as she was concerned: an idle dream, a final wish. And Jason said no more on the topic but as the evening wore on, the cogs kept turning in his mind until a plan began to emerge.

* * *

Jason made it back to the city and straight to the Palace in record time. It was the first time he had been itching to leave his father's but his plan (half-baked though it was) was burning a hole in his head. The list of competitors was in Minos' study or at least that was where Jason had last left it, along with the plans and requisitions for the Games. He darted past the guards on duty, through to the private courtyard and into what he thought of as the business side of the Palace, housing the main Council Chambers and the Throne Room. The more Jason had thought about it, the more name Phillip stood out in his mind. He in no way had a photographic memory but the name stood out for him, being a common one from his own time. He almost skidded to a halt outside the ornate doors and knocked, hoping Minos was out. Explaining his actions or even coming up with a plausible excuse for them would take more time that Jason was in the mood to give. It was fair to say that when he had an idea in his head, patience was not his virtue. Thankfully, no answer came and Jason carefully opened the door, relieved to see the room empty. Though he generally avoided being here without the king's direct permission, he had done so before when he needed to and Minos had never minded. He clearly trusted him not to snoop.

Leaving the door slightly, ajar Jason quickly scanned the room and spied his quarry. A leather folder containing plans and documents sat on Minos' table, next to a selection of stylus and rolls of parchment. Leafing through it, Jason's fingers teased out the list of competitors from the pile and he briefly checked it was what he needed. It was: a list of names, ages and their cities of origins and there was the name he had been looking for! The name, city _and_ age were all correct. Of course there were no addresses listed but as Jason had been responsible for overseeing the provision of housing for the visiting athletes, he felt fairly sure that if he wasn't at the gymnasium or the tavern then tracking him down would not be a problem. A grin spread over his face. He lacked confirmation but what he lacked in fact, Jason made up for in blind faith and a fairly large dose of luck. This had to be the same man. It was perhaps a little premature to say that Stage One was complete as he had yet to make contact, but Jason allowed his mind to check it off the list, regardless.

With one final tap of accomplishment to the paper, he slid it back in amongst the others and replaced it carefully on the king's table: not a hair out of place and he really _hadn't _been overstepping his bounds. There was nothing wrong with checking that the athletes were safe and accounted for before the Games began.

The athletes were accommodated in several purposefully vacated inns, just off the Sacred Way. Conveniently, the stadium and gymnasium were en route – that was the main reason Jason had chosen the location of the inns. He could check all along the way. Hastily, Jason darted out the room, shutting the door with a little too much speed. He winced as it slammed shut, thankful Minos was not there to scold him.

"You there!"

Once more, Jason skidded to a halt at the deep, booming voice coming from behind him. It was a voice he didn't recognise. The boy turned to see a man in long, purple robes. He bore a face Jason didn't recognise either and it currently wore an air of disinterest and superiority. Before Jason could utter a word, the man continued:

"I shall be riding out before dinner. See that my horse is saddled and inform King Minos that I shall not be attending the evening meal." He paused, his chins resting securely against his neck and a deep frown furrowing his forehead. He looked expectantly at Jason.

"Um," Jason began, uncertainly. "Sure. _Who_ are you?"

The man before him swelled to an even larger girth than he currently possessed and his face darkened to a shade that matched his robes. "Is _this_ how you address a _king_?" he sputtered. "Take heed, boy: I shall be informing your masters of this." Jason blinked, somewhat taken aback. While it was true, the man's outrage and superior attitude could scarcely have bothered him less it was still a little unusual. Then he happened to glance down at himself and almost groaned. He had forgotten to change. The first and foremast command that Minos had impressed upon him and in his haste to get the list, it had completely slipped his mind.

"Yeah…um. Sure," he replied, backing away down the corridor. "I'll let someone know about that horse." And with that he dashed off, hurtling down the corridor and out in the courtyard. This was all he needed. If he could make it to his room without encountering Minos en route…The gods, it appeared, were _not_ favouring him that day. Ahead of him, the sound of the king's voice, deep in discourse with what sounded like Ariadne, came floating on the breeze towards him. Jason swore loudly. They were just the other side of the courtyard and unless he mastered invisibility, there was no way of avoiding their meeting. Jason must have given the matter about a split-second's thought before he hastily detoured across the courtyard, vaulted the stone wall that enclosed it and ran through the gardens with their little white paths and fragrant blossoms. As he ran, Jason cursed his bad luck. That must have been one of the visiting royal family who presumably arrived during his absence. Minos was going to kill him! With any luck, this imperious king would forget all about their little chance encounter. In the meantime…

A large elm tree grew outside his balcony and, taking a moment to offer up a quick prayer that his balcony doors were unlocked, Jason secured his bag behind his back and then leapt to the lowest branches of the tree and in a series of boughs, swung himself up the tree until he neared the top. Then, swinging himself around the branch to gain momentum, he let go and somersaulted onto the balcony. Jason spared a quick glance to the garden below him, hoping he wouldn't have to explain his actions to anyone. Thankfully, no-one was there and his luck continued when he tried the doors and they opened.

Jason breathed a sigh of relief as he stumbled into the room, throwing his travelling bag onto the bed. A quick change and then he would be away. The stadium was the first place on his list. Undoing his belt, Jason tossed it on the bed and then sat down and wrestled his sandals off, without undoing the straps. When the knock at his door sounded, Jason had his red tunic in one hand and was tugging his current tunic over his head. He froze, for a moment thinking that if he kept very still and quiet, whoever was there would go away. The rapping sounded again – louder this time. Sighing heavily, Jason opened the door, hoping it was a servant who could be quickly sent away.

It wasn't. Jason couldn't help instinctively paling a little when he saw his stepfather waiting rather impatiently on the other side. He didn't wait for an invitation and Jason hadn't assumed he would, stepping aside just in time as the king strode through. Minos shot him a very suspicious look though Jason wasn't entirely sure why at this point. But the boy knew he had a habit of looking shifty. He always knew that guards and law enforcement officials could spot it a mile off. Apparently, parents could too.

Still, Jason put on his most innocent smile. "Your Majesty," he greeted. "It's good to see you." Minos half-nodded warily and Jason tried not to fidget. If he had spoken to that king, Jason told himself firmly, he would be dead by now. No, Minos didn't know.

Whatever suspicions Minos harboured however, were put to one side. The king's expression became quite animated. "Jason," he greeted the boy. "I heard the guards say that they had seen you arrive. Good." He smiled warmly at the lad. "Your mother has returned! She is currently offering her thanks for a good journey at the Temple but she will be arriving here very soon." He clapped Jason on the shoulder and Jason gave a genuine, if distracted smile. Yes, he wanted to see Pasiphae after so many weeks absence but she would still be there at the evening meal. Time was more pressing for finding Phillip.

"That's great," he exclaimed. "I'm glad she's returned safely." Minos nodded his agreement. Then he indicated Jason's still open door.

"Hurry and get dressed. We shall receive her in the Entrance Hall. Quickly," he urged, as Jason stood with his mouth hanging open. "It would not do for Pasiphae to arrive without her family to greet her." He paused and his voice took on a slightly more ironic tone: "Even _Ariadne_ will be there, though she must leave soon after to see to our guests. Which reminds me, King Temenos of Athens and his guests have arrived in Atlantis three days ago and King Pinytus and his family have accompanied your mother from Knossos. They are staying in a separate wing of the Palace and your mother is seeing that they are settled before she joins us. If you see them about the grounds, be sure to treat them hospitably." Numbly, Jason nodded as his heart thudded in his chest. Suddenly Minos clapped his hands together. "Come, come Jason."

Jason glanced out of the window a moment, his impatience niggling at him. "Of course. I've just got a couple of things I need to do first. Um, could you tell her that I'm really glad she's home and I'll see her at dinner?" Minos' face creased into confusion and then quickly into disapproval.

"Your mother has been away for over a month, Jason," he reminded the young man, firmly.

"I know, but..,"

"And it is your _duty_ as her son to greet her when she returns." His tone brooked no argument and Jason sighed heavily, in frustration. He hadn't actually _meant_ to sigh and as soon as he had, time seemed to freeze for a moment as he realised his mistake.

Minos glared at him and Jason felt himself shrink under it, looking at the King with wide, anxious eyes. "Honour to the Gods and respect to your parents are _paramount_, Jason." Jason took a deep breath and bowed his head. It had been a long time since he had angered his stepfather. "I had _hoped_ you were aware of this. Tread carefully as your arguing is bordering on disobedience." Jason swallowed, reflexively and nodded. "Now I shall expect you to be in the Entrance Hall, attired appropriately and waiting to greet your mother without delay."

With that, Minos left, closing the door behind him. Jason breathed a sigh of relief and sunk down onto his bed. It looked like his plan was going to have to wait a while.

* * *

When the young man reached the Entrance Hall, in record time, it suddenly struck him, watching Ariadne and her father already lined up to greet his mother, that this was how _he _had first entered the Palace as a family member, those many weeks ago. How different he had been, even that relatively short time ago: awkward, resentful, downright terrified. He had certainly _never_ imagined that there would come a time when these walls might become familiar to him or the people in it, anything other than hostile strangers. Well, all except Ariadne, of course.

Minos spared him a quick glance as he all but skidded into the Entrance Hall. The king said nothing and Jason sighed, being careful to keep it to himself this time. Minos was obviously still annoyed with him and he just hoped that with his wife's return, Minos would be pleasantly distracted and would not bear the grudge for too long. Avoiding his stepfather's line of sight, Jason crossed the marble floor to stand beside Ariadne, straightening his tunic as he went. The princess stood tall and beautiful as always, her soft hair flowing down her back in intricate locks, golden jewellery adorning and complementing her olive skin. She turned her head and smiled warmly at him, lighting her dark eyes, though her composure never faltered. Jason grinned back more openly, his own gestures still far from the refined, subtle ones of his extended family. It made Ariadne laugh, softly. Jason's more honest, enthusiastic reactions often surprised and delighted her – he supposed his uncouthness was a refreshing change for her but he didn't take offence. It was nice to see her face soften, actually. It appeared that waiting for her stepmother to return was not a task the girl felt fondly about and though she could sculpt her body into the appropriate formalities and postures, she could never quite school her face to avoid that sneer or that faint hint of boredom.

"Welcome home," she greeted quietly as he fell into place beside her.

"Hi," he returned, still smiling. He gestured towards the doorway. "I didn't think those winds were _ever_ going to die down and let her ship continue." Ariadne stiffened and her lips twisted in such a way that Jason found pulled his own heart down – it made a sort of 'hidden ugliness' come to the surface in her, much the way it did with Aeson when his father became mired in the wrongs of the Past.

"It appears," the girl replied acidly, "that the Gods did _not_ favour her return." She made sure, that though her tone was hard and bitter, she kept her words from her father's nearby ears. "We must be sure not to ask what kind of sacrifices she made on the beaches to be given a fair wind."

"Or maybe the weather just changed normally?" Jason ventured, hoping to draw her out of her dark mood. Ariadne however, just shook her head, sadly.

"I cannot believe we are wasting valuable time, waiting to greet such a woman when we all have pressing matters to attend to." She sighed. "Though it is our _duty_ and I do so to support Father." Jason smiled faintly and let the matter drop. God knows, Ariadne had more reason than anyone to hate Pasiphae but this was still his _mother_… But that was also something else she had taken to doing recently, Jason noted: referring to Minos as simply 'Father' when in his company, rather than '_my_ father'. Jason wasn't entirely sure how he felt about that. Sometimes, Pasiphae and even Minos made oblique references to their future together as a couple and other times – more often than not, in fact - they were grouped together firmly in the roles of brother and sister. It could get very confusing.

Suddenly, a commotion of marching footsteps could be heard approaching from outside the Palace and as Jason looked up, a troop of guards entered, forming two opposite lines before stopping to attention. Minos was already smiling and Jason found that he liked that. The king took a few steps forward, leaving Jason and Ariadne in a row behind.

When Pasiphae walked through into the room, though her eyes went straight to her husband in that first instance, Jason still _felt_ her gaze upon him even if he couldn't figure out why. She looked well – tired perhaps but nowhere near how haggard he had imagined she would look after all those days at sea. She was still every inch the queen as she embraced her husband and kissed his cheeks. "Welcome home," he heard his stepfather murmur to her, softly. Then he pulled away from her, his hands on her arms the last to be removed. "I hope your journey was a good one."

"It was most favourable," she confirmed, "and I am surprisingly well-rested and ready to continue with preparations." Minos shook his head.

"Do not over-exert yourself. Preparations are well in-hand: we have all worked hard in your absence." At this, she raised a speculative eyebrow and Minos laughed. "Yes, _all_ of us."

"That reminds me," Pasiphae continued, "we had some children when last I left, did we not?" Minos chuckled and stepped aside and Pasiphae gave a tiny gasp, pretending to see them for the first time.

"You see," Minos remarked, "they are much as they were."

As her eyes properly fell upon her son, there was no missing the way they lit up and Jason's smile made her sigh ever so quietly. By the gods, how she had missed him. It had felt strange for Pasiphae as her ship had approached the shores of Atlantis and the familiar buildings and terrain gradually hove into sight: she could not remember a time when she had genuinely longed to return to see someone.

Beside him, Jason felt Ariadne shift uncomfortably. He couldn't be certain, but something about Ariadne's mannerisms made her seem a little less sure of herself than she had been only moments ago. Pasiphae stepped towards them and Ariadne automatically, robotically, leaned forwards and lightly embraced her stepmother, kissing the air by her cheek. Pasiphae's elegant fingers curled lightly around the girl's delicate shoulders, barely rippling her dress.

"Ariadne," the queen greeted quietly. "You look well." The girl gave a tight nod, ignoring her comment.

"Welcome home," she muttered, barely looking into the woman's eyes. Then the girl turned to her father. "Father? I promised King Temenos' daughter that I would show her the gardens before supper and I do not wish to keep her waiting for much longer. May I be excused, please?" Something in her father's eyes showed he understood his daughter's motivations all too well but she had fulfilled her duty and she had done so without any fuss. So he nodded.

"Of course, Ariadne. We must be good hosts. Pasiphae and I may always rely on you to do your duty." He smiled warmly at his daughter and she bowed to her parents, exchanged a smile with Jason and then swept from the room.

Jason watched her go, her perfume still lingering in the air where she had been. Then Pasiphae turned to him and enveloped him in her arms. A little surprised, Jason nonetheless allowed his mother to draw him near and wrap her arms tightly about his shoulders. Reflexively, he wrapped his arms about her waist and lightly squeezed back. "Hi," he greeted. Against his shoulder, he felt his mother laugh. Perhaps it had not been the correct greeting, but it was _his_ and his mother, it appeared, after a prolonged absence was more than happy to hear it again.

"Hello," she returned, smiling. Jason grinned back. "I am glad to see you are in one piece on my return."

Jason nodded. "And just _brimming_ with knowledge," he assured her with mock-solemnity.

The queen raised an eyebrow, a smile still playing on her features. "Truly? How wonderful. I shall look forward to your reports."

"Oh don't look forward to them _that_ much. Have some wine first, whatever you do."

Laughing, she swatted him lightly in the middle of the chest. "Thank you for the warning. I shall fortify myself appropriately. Now how have you occupied your time while I have been away?"

Jason glanced down to the ground, feeling Minos' eyes still on him. It wasn't in his nature to 'blow his own trumpet' under the best of circumstances, but certainly not when he was in his stepfather's 'bad books'. The boy gave an embarrassed shrug. "Oh, you know. Keeping busy, studying, doing some odd jobs here and there."

Suddenly a heavy hand was placed on his shoulder and Jason looked up, startled. "Jason has been busy, indeed," the king informed his wife, who cast a slightly perplexed look between the two men. "You will find that many of the celebrations and provisions for our citizens and athletes have come from your son. I have been most grateful to have had his help these past weeks." Jason felt a blush rise in his face and found he could not look at either of his parents. Pasiphae took a step back and Jason could almost feel the way her stare had changed. Her mouth hung open for a fraction longer than normal as she looked between Jason and her husband.

Though Minos' face was open and smiling – proud even – Pasiphae took a moment to process the news. She could see it now, now that the two were next to each other. The distance was gone – the way Jason's frame tensed when near his stepfather and the wall Minos usually threw up in-front of her son. They were relaxed; Minos looked at her son with pride in his voice and in his eyes. Something was not quite smooth, she noted. _Something_ made Jason wary but it was not the _same_ something as before. It would have been just as simple for everyone if she had allowed Jason to remain with his friends during her absence, yet she had insisted he still attend the Palace. In her heart, Pasiphae had known, _hoped_ even, that her absence would force Minos to properly look at her son and that Jason could not simply hide away from the man. But if she were honest with herself, the queen really hadn't known how this new relationship would manifest. And she was glad of it indeed. Jason needed a father. A proper father who could guide him to kingship – to take the throne with confidence and with the blessing of all the people. Even so, it made her heart ache for just those few weeks that she had lost with the boy.

She placed a warm hand on Jason's other shoulder. "Then I am most gladdened to hear it. Perhaps you could take a walk with me to _Hera's Garden_ and tell me all about it?"

Jason had opened his mouth to answer but Minos' reply was quicker. "Of course he can. Jason has nothing else more important than spending time with his newly returned mother." The king's firm hand on his shoulder became just a_ little bit_ firmer and squeezed. Jason tried not to wince even as his thoughts tugged back to his original goal. He needed to find Phillip and Hercules' lack of patience was rubbing off on him. But, it appeared, he was not yet back in Minos' 'good books'.

Not dare risking another sigh, Jason smiled in what he hoped was a convincing manner. "Of course," he said and Pasiphae's pleased returning smile actually made him feel guilty for wanting to leave her company in the first place. She had missed him. He had never had anyone go away and miss him before. Except perhaps Aeson. But it felt good.

So he held out his arm to her. "I'd be glad to. I've discovered a _lovely_ little spot if you'd like to come with me?"

Minos rolled his eyes as his wife laughed and took her son's arm. "Oh, you have, have you? Tell me, are there perhaps _peacocks_ in this lovely spot you discovered?"

Jason began to lead her out of the doors, saying as they went: "Not lately but remind me to show you some _beautiful_ feather dusters we've just had made."

* * *

That's it for now. Thanks for reading this far.


	9. Chapter 9

The Road Ahead – standard disclaimer still applies

Thank you all SO much for your really kind reviews and for all the encouragement. I really hope you enjoy this chapter.

Chapter 9

Though Jason had enjoyed his talk with his mother and had been genuinely interested in her description of Crete and King Pinytus' palace, he had still been very relieved when a servant had arrived with refreshments for her. Pasiphae, having sensed her son's divided intentions, shook her head fondly and gave him his leave, instructing him to be back in time for the evening meal. Jason had quickly kissed her cheek and then all but leapt up and raced out of the garden. He'd scaled the wall onto the streets outside, rather than heading back through the Palace itself and he was sure he'd heard his mother inhale sharply.

But he would worry about the prospective lecture later. Having unsuccessfully checked both the stadium and the gymnasium, Jason just prayed that this Phillip would be at one of the inns. On entering the inn, he pushed his way through the tables and benches of loud, boisterous men, sating both their appetites and their need to boast of past athletic accomplishments and eventually found a serving girl who was not currently doling out jugs of ale or bowls of nuts and pastries. As Jason asked about an athlete called Phillip, from Crete, he once again wondered if he was clutching at straws. However, as he held his breath and waited, the girl almost immediately pointed to a table at the far end of the room, tucked into a corner where, lit by a dripping candle, a lone man sat, drinking more contemplatively than his fellow athletes. Jason's heart leapt. The man was young – around his own age and from what Jason could make out of his features in the dim and smoky light, there was a definite resemblance to Myrtle. Even marred by her disease, Myrtle's underlying features were quite distinctive. The man's blonde hair was trimmed short and tidy and his face was tanned, lean and handsome but his mother's eyes graced his features, as did her strong jaw.

Thanking the girl, Jason hastily made his way over to the table, stopping just in-front of it. It took a second for the man to register that someone was standing by his table. Dressed as Jason was, in his clothes from the Palace, the young man immediately straightened and looked ready to listen to Jason. Jason got the distinct impression that if he had been dressed in his normal attire, he would have been summarily dismissed instead.

"Are you Phillip?" Jason asked. "From Knossos? Warily, the man nodded.

"Can I help you?" He paused. "You are part of those who organise the Games aren't you? I've seen you about the Stadium. Is there something wrong?" He indicated a vacant stool and Jason sat, shaking his head.

"No. Nothing's wrong. It's something else I wanted to talk to you about and this is going to sound a little strange." Cautiously. Phillip nodded, not especially welcoming: if this was not to do with the contest, then he much preferred his solitude to drink in peace.

Once seated, Jason continued, looking carefully into the man's face. He could tell his audience was reluctant to hear him out and he only hoped he didn't blow it. "Your mother," he began, cursing his blunt introduction as Phillip's broad shoulders immediately tensed. "Was she called Myrtle? She lived in Atlantis – your family did?" Again, the man nodded.

"What does this have to do with anything?" he demanded, anger beginning to brew behind his mother's eyes. "My mother is dead and even if she weren't, I don't know what business it is of yours."

Immediately, Jason shook his head, personal feelings making him more forward than he would ever normally be. "Who told you she was dead?" he demanded. Jason was rather fed up with people in this city telling people that their perfectly healthy mothers were dead. In front of him, Phillip shifted awkwardly and glanced about the room, checking to see if anyone was eavesdropping on their conversation. He was embarrassed, Jason realised and felt a tiny prickle of sadness.

"My father told me she contracted the leper's disease," he admitted, quietly, unsure why he was telling this boy anything at all. It was a shameful secret in his family and was discussed by no-one, not even between himself and his father.

"But do you know that she _died_?" Jason pressed.

"I have not seen her since I was a young boy," Phillip reluctantly admitted and Jason could see the shadows of shame hang on his face. "But with her disease and her old age … my father says she must be dead by now and I must agree with his assessment." Jason watched this young man carefully: _did_ he agree with his father? Or had he just never thought to question him when it really mattered? To discover the truth for himself? For all the strength coursing through his body, his _spirit_ seemed weak. Well, if there was one thing he had learnt and learnt very quickly, it was that the Past did not have to dictate your future and that, as corny as it sounded to his own ears, it was never too late to forge _new_ paths. If _he_ could do it…

Jason grinned at Phillip. "Look, I hope you don't think I'm being pushy, but I know your mother. She's alive and well and living in a colony, only a day's ride from here."

Phillip's eyes widened and his breath caught in his throat. He sat back in his chair, just staring at Jason for a long moment. When he finally spoke, it was barely a whisper:

"A _leper_ colony?"

Jason nodded. "I know what you're thinking, but she's perfectly safe to be around and she's living a normal life there. Well, as normal as it can be. You really don't notice her scars after you talk to her and she's such a lovely woman. I bet she was a fantastic mother." For a second, his companion smiled softly.

"From what I remember of her, yes she was."

"I know she'd love to see you. She's so proud of the way you used to run."

"She remembers that?" Phillip interrupted, his eyes curious yet haunted.

Jason smiled. "You should have heard her talking about you. I know you've got the Games to think about now but will you let me take you to her when they're finished? The colony's not too far to travel and you can always get a boat back to Crete afterwards. If you need to leave for Crete immediately after the Games, there's time for you to see her now, before they start. You'd still be back in plenty of time." Phillip looked away, nervous apprehension written all over him. "Please," Jason pressed. "Just quickly. You don't have to come to the actual colony if that makes you nervous. I can ask her to meet us in the woods nearby. She thinks she'll never see you again before she dies." He paused as Phillip shifted again in his seat, his eyes sad and guilty.

"I can't," he sighed, heavily. "I am glad to hear that my mother is alive and well. I truly am. But my family have said their goodbyes to her, in our hearts. I cannot open old wounds." He looked sad, but resolute as he delivered his final words. "The past is best left alone and I have to think about my present." Jason's eyes narrowed in anger and he didn't care that Phillip saw them. "She would understand," he insisted firmly. Then he stood, the chair scraping backwards. "And now I must rest – the Opening Ceremony is only three days away and the running races are the first events. Unlike these drinking and gambling fools," he said, indicating the other athletes with a nod of his head, "I do not intend to wear myself out before it."

And with that he was gone, pushing his way roughly through the crowded room and spilling the odd cup of wine as he went. Jason watched him disappear through a little wooden door to the side of the tavern that led up to the bedrooms. He forced his fingers to unclench though his lips were still pressed tightly together. When he had been growing up, if someone had offered him the chance to get to know a parent that he thought had died or just hadn't seen for years, he would have given anything to do so. That a man could turn down the opportunity to see his own mother again was frankly astounding to Jason. Phillip was unwilling to see Myrtle again because she was a leper? _His_ mother was a murdering, tyrannical _witch_ and _he_ still made the effort to see her!

Well, he thought to himself, there was no point sitting in a tavern and quietly seething. Jason rose and made his way back into the fresh air. So Phillip would not go to his mother. That meant his _mother_ would have to come to _Atlantis_. One way or another, she would see her son again, even if it had to be from the shadows.

* * *

"Jason, have you thought about this?"

"Yes. This would mean so much to her, Pythagoras." The young man sat at their kitchen table, watching his friend pacing.

"I do not doubt your intentions, Jason, nor her reactions." He paused and gave a faint smile. "Myrtle sounds like a lovely woman indeed and for a son to shun his mother is a great sadness, as well as a dishonour to the gods."

"So you'll help me?" Jason pressed, leaning forwards eagerly, his dark eyes imploring. With a sigh, Pythagoras stopped pacing and turned to face him. He could feel the entreating, wide-eyed stare even if he hadn't seen it. It was usually more effective on cajoling Hercules into a particular course of action (mainly because he was usually Jason's intended target) but it was proving just as effective on him.

Sinking down on the bench opposite, Pythagoras leant forwards, his keen mind searching for just the right tone and phrase. "To bring a leper within the city walls is forbidden, Jason." His voice was carefully measured to avoid both hints of remonstration but to also convey the seriousness of his friend's good-hearted request. "If we were caught – all three of us could be arrested." He paused. "Though I imagine they would want to expel your friend Myrtle from the borders as soon as possible. That is if she agrees to come with me on your behalf." He gave a wry smile. "I do not often inspire feelings of reassurance and safety amongst the insecure. If I do manage to persuade her to leave the colony, I can only hope I would be able to protect her on our journey back."

Jason shook his head, earnest eyes fixed squarely on him. "You're the most reassuring, trustworthy person I know and Myrtle is no fool. She'll see that straight away. I would trust you. I'd trust you with my life, even if I'd never met you before."

A feeling of embarrassed affection flooded the young mathematician and he suddenly looked down to the table. Though he may not always reside in their home now, any fears Pythagoras might have held that they would drift apart in his absence were steadily being put to rest.

"Besides," Jason added, "she remembers you. And Hercules – from when we all came to the caves with Ariadne. She liked the look of you guys. I know she'll trust you and she really wants to see her son." A dark look crossed his face. "Even if he is a no-good, ungrateful git."

"Git?"

Jason shrugged. "That's just what he is. Git. Bastard. Call it what you like."

Rolling his eyes, Pythagoras waved away the detailed explanation. This was not the first nor would it be the last time that Jason's vocabulary would puzzle him. "Never mind. I think I can correctly surmise your assessment of his character."

"But my point is, you could persuade her. I know you could." Jason hesitated, his face softening into a smile. "If you'd rather not, I'd completely understand and I wouldn't hold it against you." Pythagoras smiled, reluctantly. "No, really," Jason pressed. "I wouldn't even do what Hercules does and _say_ I won't hold it against you and then remind you about it every day afterwards for a week."

Now his blonde friend chuckled, fondly. "_Two_ weeks, if you count that time you went to your dock-worker's party and didn't tell him."

Thinking back to the memory, Jason momentarily joined his friend in laughter. Hercules had been most put out, indeed and if he was honest, Jason hadn't properly enjoyed the drinks without his loud friend there anyway. "But seriously. I can go – you really don't have to. I know it's a lot to ask you."

Leaning back, Pythagoras sighed and ran a hand through his short-cropped curls. "This _is_ your time at the Palace," he reminded him. "I'm sure you aren't even supposed to be _here_. If you were to disappear for two days to Galena…"

"What?" Jason asked, raising an incredulous eyebrow. "I'm not _Ariadne_. I don't think my disappearing for a couple of days is going to send the garrisons out looking for me and have the city put on lockdown."

"No. But nor can I imagine that Pasiphae's consequences would be anything to dismiss so lightly. Nor Minos' for that matter."

Jason waved a dismissive hand. "What's she going to do? Torture me again with a lock of my hair?"

"She doesn't _need_ a lock of your hair when she's got _you_," Pythagoras pointed out. But he did somewhat relent. "Alright," he conceded. "Perhaps not. But you shouldn't underestimate either of them. They _are_ the king and queen. There's not a lot they _can't do_ if you provoke them."

Jason nodded, though it was more to show he had heard his friend than because he took his warning seriously. "Are you sure Hercules can't come?"

Sighing, the young genius shook his head. "No. I must admit that I have been surprised to see how seriously Hercules is taking his job, guarding this merchandise."

Jason raised his eyebrows. "Are they the _same_ barrels of wine?" Pythagoras nodded. "And he hasn't opened them once? Not even to test the quality and to make sure they aren't going off?" At Pythagoras' shake of his head, Jason let out a low whistle. Grinning, he remarked: "Wow. I didn't know he had it in him. He's practically a changed man."

Pythagoras snorted. "Well I would not venture _quite_ that far but he does seem to enjoy the income. The merchant pays well – though the foreign ones usually do: they feel more nervous about leaving their supplies in a strange land." He glanced over to the closed door to Hercules' room. "He should be getting up soon to start work if you want to wait around for him?" Jason followed his gaze, sorely tempted to do so. But he had promised his mother he would be back in time for the evening meal and he was late enough as it was.

"I'd love to, but I'd better not." Pythagoras nodded, understandingly. "Listen, I know it's a long way to ask you to travel and if you'd rather not, I can..."

He held up a hand. "I can do it, Jason." Pythagoras smiled, kindly at him, hoping to reassure his friend that this was not a reluctant or pressured agreement. "I have travelled that way before and it is no hardship, I promise you. I shall set out at first light and bring her to Atlantis on the morning of the ceremony. Where shall we meet you on our return?" He paused, his young face creasing thoughtfully. "We must be cautious when entering Atlantis as we must not be seen and I am not as stealthy as you, nor as swift and good with a sword if we should be caught by guards."

"I know a route to the stadium used by the workers – it's fairly well tucked away. Meet me at the forest that borders the city and I'll take over from there. I can get her past the guards at the gates and into the stadium."

"You can't put her in the stands with everyone else," Pythagoras pointed out.

"I'm not going to. There are rooms below ground level that are mainly used for storage and things. You can still see the stadium through grates and windows from there. I'll make sure Myrtle is safely hidden there – no-one comes that way so they won't see her and I can check back on her throughout the Games. Then when the ceremony is over, I can slip her out the same way and take her back to the colony."

Absorbing the information carefully, Pythagoras slowly nodded though he absently worried his bottom lip. "Alright. That sounds…plausible." He gave a small laugh. "I'm sure it will be fine. Just, please come as quickly as you can to meet us. I'm afraid I am not much of a protector." Jason reached across and lightly squeezed his friend's forearm.

"There's no-one I would trust more to defend me – and I seem to recall you taking on a whole band of thieves and bandits on my behalf once." They both lightly chuckled at the memory. "Thank-you, Pythagoras. You're a real star." Pythagoras reached a hand to gently pat the hand that held him.

"You had better go. I'm not sure when the Palace normally eats dinner but the sun has set some time ago."

Swivelling round on his bench to look out of the windows behind him, Jason suddenly swore, loudly. It wasn't a familiar swear word to the young mathematician but there was no mistaking its usage. Standing, Jason grinned at his friend. "I'm late. But they're used to that, by now. Thanks again – I'll see you in a couple of days."

And with that, he darted towards the door. "Remember!" Pythagoras called out after him: "Dawn, at the forest edge. Don't be late!"

Jason spun back around on one foot, hand paused on the doorframe. He grinned once more. "Relax. I'll be there." Then he quickly shot out of the door and set off again for the Palace.

* * *

He arrived a little out of breath and had to stop by the garden wall. One hand leant against the stone as Jason's heart hammered hard in his chest and his shaky inhale turned into a hacking cough. Jason closed his eyes against the wave of dizziness and, feeling the wall secure against his hand, he moved forwards a few more paces, keeping his eyes closed and taking deep breaths. Suddenly, he let out a loud hiss of pain as, simultaneously he walked into sharp, prickly bushes and irate insects decided to nibble on every spare inch of flesh that they could find. Apparently, Jason realised, stumbling blindly into their habitat was not a good idea.

Sighing, he straightened up and risked opening his eyes again. That damned run from home to here shouldn't be making him so dizzy, he thought irritably as the world around him swam, nauseatingly. Absently, he scratched at the various bites and scratches on his arms and legs. He was seriously regretting now his decision to creep in through the back gardens, rather than just going straight through the front entrance. Still, it was done now. Jason glanced up at the darkening sky. The closer he drew to the little courtyard that would lead in to the Palace hallways, the louder the voices from within grew. Dinner was just about finishing by the sounds of the servants scuttling out of the dining hall and back towards the kitchens. Hopefully, he prayed, with so many guests visiting, he hadn't been missed too much.

Taking a moment to straighten his tunic and check there were no stray twigs, leaves or insects caught in either his hair or clothing, Jason put on a smile and headed inside. Almost as soon as he did so, the doors to the dining hall opened and Ariadne emerged, a young woman with elaborately woven blonde hair, walking in step beside her. They both stopped their light conversation when they saw his approach, the strange girl with a question in her eyes. Ariadne's eyes held her own question but something about the indulgent way that they twinkled, showed Jason that she already suspected her answer.

Jason grinned as he approached the women. "I hope everyone started without me," he said, nodding to the emptying hall. "I'm a little late." Ariadne shook her head, though she was clearly smiling.

"A _little late_?" she repeated, in amused exasperation. Jason's daring and his frankly audacious attitude was going to run him into trouble one of these days. Yet she had to admit, she found his casual disregard for some of their formalities and propriety to be light-heartedly amusing. It was not something that she herself could ever do but on Jason, it just seemed to fit. Jason treated her to a bashful smile.

"I got a bit held up," he admitted. Then he seemed to notice that this strange young woman was looking at him with unbridled curiosity and he faintly blushed. On seeing his reaction, Ariadne suddenly remembered her own manners, feeling her own face flush at having left her guest standing unacknowledged for so long. She turned to the girl and smiled, indicating Jason with one hand.

"This is my stepbrother, Jason." The girl smiled a wide, pearly smile at Jason, her fair lashes fluttering over her blue eyes and Ariadne pushed down a sudden irritated stab. She turned to the young man. "This is the Princess Semele, of Athens. She and her parents are staying with us during the festivities."

Jason turned his smile on the Princess Semele. "Hello." He gave a short bow and the girl giggled, one delicate hand curled in-front of her face. Jason paused and looked a little uncertainly to Ariadne. Had he not been _meant_ to bow? But Ariadne only looked tight-lipped and, Jason suspected, had ever so quickly rolled her eyes while her companion's attention had been focused on Jason. Whatever the reason for it, the princess did not appear to have taken offence. "So…what do you think of Atlantis?" Jason asked her, Minos' edict to be sociable still ringing in his ears. Damn, but he hated small talk.

Semele's blue orbs shone a little brighter as her eyes widened for a moment. Her expression indicated she was searching for an answer but after a moment of mild panic, in which she stared at Ariadne, presumably for help, the girl ended up examining her well-pointed toes. And Jason. She spent a fair bit of time examining Jason: his arms, his legs, his chest. Ariadne cleared her throat, sharply, causing both Jason _and_ Semele to jump.

"We have not had time to see much of Atlantis yet," the raven-haired princess explained as Semele's blush deepened. "I have only had time to show Princess Semele the Palace and its grounds. But tomorrow we shall go on a tour of the city." She paused and smiled, sweetly. "And we are looking forward to it, immensely." Jason smothered a smirk. He knew his princess well enough by now.

Jason winked at her. "Don't forget to show her the Minotaur." Ariadne sighed as the Princess Semele let out a startled squeak. Jason chuckled at the poor girl's pallid expression. "I'm just kidding," he reassured her. "It's dead now."

"Jason," Ariadne began pointedly, in a honey-laced tone very similar to Pasiphae's, "Perhaps you should find our parents? I believe they wish to speak with you." Jason bit back a groan, shooting Ariadne a somewhat darker look to which the Princess only smiled, sweetly. He glanced across the hallway, half expecting said parents to pounce on him at any moment. For a second, Jason couldn't see them amongst the various servants and dignitaries who had been attending that evening's meal. But after a moment, his mother's polished laugh and the deeper tones of his stepfather's voice carried across to him.

Across the room, Minos and Pasiphae led King Pinytus and his wife, Queen Allecto out of the hall. Their guests were tiring after their long journey from Knossos and Minos did not think they would be entertaining them for much longer before they retired to their wing for the evening. He would have the servants turn down the beds and bring water for washing to their rooms. Looking over to his wife, Minos marvelled at her silent composure and fortitude. She must be nearly dead on her feet by now, despite her assertions to the contrary and yet he had not seen her smile out of place, her wit dulled nor her concentration waver. She truly was a marvel and he smiled to himself as he soaked up her refined beauty. Her dedication to duty was admirable indeed. Now if only her son could borrow some of his mother's sense of duty, he thought irritably as he listened to Pasiphae discussing the culinary delights she had been impressed with while staying as a guest with Pinytus. Jason had impressed him immensely over the last few weeks but it had to be said that his attitude since his return from Aeson was most disappointing. Perhaps it was his father's influence? Whatever the cause, both he and Pasiphae had been hoping to introduce Jason to their guests at dinner and the boy's absence had been embarrassing. One thing was for sure, Minos decided: Jason missed _far_ too many meals and this was now an end to it. He was fed up with looking to Jason's chair, to find it empty and Minos knew his wife had reached the end of her own patience. He would sit and eat with his family, like a sociable human being, even if he had to have the guards drag him to the table to do it.

Suddenly, Minos spotted the object of his mild irritation, speaking with Ariadne and Temenos' daughter, Semele. He had to admit, it was clear their visiting princess was most charmed by the young prince and Minos felt a little of his irritation soften. At that moment, the sound of footsteps from the entrance hall approached and Minos turned to see King Temenos returning from his evening's ride. He sighed. Greeting his guest was more important at this point that wheedling answers out of his errant stepson. Jason seemed to have a favourable luck that followed him about.

"Will you excuse me?" he asked his wife and their guests. "King Temenos has returned and I should see how his ride was." Pasiphae nodded and gently squeezed his forearm before he left them. Temenos, on seeing Minos' approach, also moved to meet him.

"Temenos," Minos greeted, clasping a hand on the portly king's shoulder. "I trust you had a pleasant evening? You must be hungry. I will be more than happy to have some food sent up to your rooms. And you must try the wine – it is the best we have in Atlantis." Temenos nodded, a slightly irritated expression pursing his lips.

"The ride was pleasant enough," he reluctantly agreed. His gaze wandered the room to find his daughter. The Princess Ariadne had been entrusted as her companion and though he had heard only glowing reports about Atlantis' princess, his own suspicions were far from satisfied. His piggy little eyes suddenly narrowed when he finally spotted the young women. Minos was still speaking to him but his own mind had become distracted. "I must say, King Minos," he interrupted, "your servants are quite forward, in Atlantis. In Athens they have a greater respect for their masters."

Minos almost spluttered. "I confess I find this most surprising. Our servants have always behaved with the utmost respect. Please tell me which one has offended you and if this is indeed the case, I shall see that they are suitably punished."

Temenos growled a little even as he puffed with importance. He pointed a meaty, bejewelled finger towards where Jason still chatted with Ariadne and his daughter. "That boy there," he grumbled. "First he was extremely rude to me when I saw him earlier this evening and now I do _not_ appreciate the way he is smiling and laughing with my daughter. She is a _princess_ and he should be taught his place."

"Who now?" A smooth voice interrupted, as Pasiphae glided over to join them. "Come now, my Lord. Who has upset you in our home? Certainly not on purpose, I hope." Seeing another ally to his cause, Temenos shot a dark look at Jason. "That wretched serving boy in the red tunic."

Pasiphae followed his gaze and inhaled, sharply, her eyes widening and then immediately narrowing into dark slits. "I beg your pardon?" she demanded, her tone several degrees icier than the ingratiating one she had interrupted with. Temenos shifted uncomfortably, confused at the sudden change of atmosphere. Minos stepped in quickly, a hand resting gently on his wife's arm. His own temper had been riled but it was nothing compared to the sparks he could almost see coming out of his queen's eyes.

"My Lord Temenos," he said quietly yet with a voice of steel. "The young man you are referring to is my stepson and Prince of Atlantis." At these words, the large king paled, his puffy lips opening and closing silently, like a fish.

"B…but. My apologies, King Minos…but when I last saw him he was not dressed as he is now and…" The king floundered in panic and though Pasiphae still smouldered, Minos began to see the picture. He turned to his wife.

"My dear, I think it would be best if you took your son to our chambers where I shall join you both in a moment." His eyes fixed with hers, willing her to reign her feared temper in. Pasiphae was like a tiger when provoked and where her son was concerned, was doubly dangerous. However, he was relying on her sense of duty and politics not to fail him and he was not disappointed. The queen nodded, tightly but she forced a smile back onto her face.

"Of course. I think that would be best." She bowed her head to her husband, though her eyes still bore a hole through Temenos. As she left, Minos held out a hand to Athens' stammering king.

"Come, my Lord. We can discuss matters privately and comfortably in my Council Chambers." Indicating the way forward and with one backwards glance at his wife, Minos deftly led the confused king away.

As they left, Pasiphae strode purposefully towards her son, unsure whether she was seething for the insult to them both or because she had a sinking suspicion that it was Jason's actions that had led to this. That simpering girl of Temenos' was still batting her eyelids at her son. As if Pasiphae would even _consider_ a match between the two! By the Gods - it was times like this when Pasiphae appreciated the strength and intelligence in Ariadne. She smoothly drew to a halt in front of the group of young royals and nodded to them. "Princess Semele," she began. "I trust you have enjoyed dinner?" The girl nodded and actually opened her mouth to make a verbal response, but Pasiphae cut her off. "Perhaps Ariadne might interest you in a walk before retiring? The evening air here is so fragrant."

She had to give her stepdaughter credit. For once the girl did not question her motives – perhaps it was the way her eyes had flashed on her approach? But whatever the cause, Ariadne immediately swept in. "Of course, Semele. We really should take the night air before turning in. Will you come this way?" A little confused at the speed of the new events and, it was plainly obvious, a little reluctant to leave Jason's company, Semele could only nod as Ariadne took her wrist and began to half guide and half lead her away from the room. As she passed Jason, Ariadne paused and shot him a sympathetic look. She had been around Pasiphae for far too long not to recognise when the queen was taking no prisoners. Jason watched her go with a little apprehension. He knew his mother wouldn't be happy that he had missed dinner but her approach seemed a little more irate than he thought strictly necessary for his tardiness.

"Jason," Pasiphae began and she could see the boy immediately pale at the iron in her voice. _Good_, she thought, grimly. "You are to come with me, now." She didn't wait for him to respond. She pivoted on her heel and began to elegantly march away, causing Jason to jog to catch up.

"I'm sorry I missed dinner," Jason ventured as he drew level with her but she simply threw up one hand to silence his apology. Confused once more, Jason trailed off, still following her up the staircase. "Where are we going?" he wondered. His mother's mood was as dark as he had ever seen it. At least, excluding those times when she had _actually_ been trying to kill him. For a moment, he thought she wouldn't answer him but a few seconds later, she replied, curtly:

"To Minos and my chambers."

Jason stopped in his tracks. "Why?"

Spinning to face him, Pasiphae replied: "Because the king wishes to speak with you privately and because you have been instructed to." Her words fell sharply into the air and Jason winced. His eternal luck really was in short supply today.

* * *

It was some hours later that Jason lay in bed that night, his thoughts vacillating between anger and guilt. It had taken what seemed to him like a good hour for Minos to arrive but when he did, the conversation that ensued had been every bit as unpleasant as Jason had expected it to be. The first sign of this being when Minos asked Pasiphae to leave them. That didn't bode well in Jason's mind especially as he was sure he could detect a hint of reluctance on his mother's face as she complied. Not that it made much difference on a practical level. Jason was still pretty certain she'd have been able to hear what was said: half the bloody Palace must have heard as Minos seemed to be under no compulsion to keep his voice down.

Jason _still_ thought they were overreacting a little to the simple fact that he forgot to change his clothes. _Your mother and I have told you about this matter time and time again – it was made perfectly clear to you, Jason when you first arrived. _He could still hear his stepfather's irate accusation burning in his ears. But then again, Minos had presented some more _interesting_ points and as Jason lay there, absently continuing to scratch at the bite on the inside of his wrist, his mind replayed the lecture yet again:

"Do you _truly_ believe that we are angry because you forgot to follow an instruction?" Minos had demanded. Jason had felt his heart beat hard in his chest and resisted the urge to scratch at his wrist where the bite had begun to swell. It _is_ what he had believed but on seeing the king's incredulity, Jason suddenly didn't dare voice that line of defence any longer. Pythagoras' earlier warning was now echoing around his head as Minos seemed to continually shift between _king_ and _father_, in his head – a sort of double refraction.

"Do you have any _idea_ how _easily_ relations between city states can be damaged, Jason? What little it takes to incite conflict?" At this question, Jason had paled? Conflict? Seriously? He felt stones settle in the pit of his stomach as he stood before his stepfather, while Minos paced before him. "To have my _stepson_ – my _wife's_ son – mistaken for and treated as a _servant_! Had I not realised where this misconception had stemmed from then for that insult _alone_ I would have expelled him and his family from the Palace!"

"I'm sorry," Jason had murmured as his thoughts reeled in his head. But Minos barely acknowledged him.

"And if you had paid _any_ attention in your History lessons, you would know that relations between Atlantis and Athens have always been on a knife's edge." The king's face lined deeper with anger and concern but it was the drop in his voice that had concerned Jason the most: "Conflict between us has been a sad and constant companion throughout our past. It is not a welcome legacy that I wish to leave the future generations of Atlantis."

"I'm sorry," Jason repeated. "I really never intended to cause any problems."

Perhaps Minos had heard the genuine remorse in Jason's tone because he suddenly stopped pacing and sighed, wearily. When he began again, it was in a quieter tone of voice. "You did not know who Temenos was when you encountered him. I accept that." Then his voice had grown harder. "But what I _cannot_ accept is that you chose _not_ to tell me the truth when I saw you in your chambers, moments later." He moved until he was directly in-front of the young man and Jason fought the need to retreat a step back. "If I could have caught Temenos _before_ he left for his ride and cleared up the mistake immediately then we could have avoided the embarrassment - _for all of_ _us_ - of the repeated insult after dinner! _You_ could have avoided all of that if you had just confessed to me immediately, what had happened."

He had stared hard at Jason and Jason felt shame burn his face. His mind had played back to one of the first warnings Minos had issued him: _I shall not have my stepson mistaken for a servant._ He _could_ have said something but he'd been in a rush. And he'd been more than a little apprehensive about what Minos would have done to him if he'd found out that the one thing Minos had been adamant _wouldn't_ happen, _had_ done.

Minos suddenly stalked a few paces away then had turned and glared hotly at him, the disappointment emanating from every pore. "I have been looking forward to your mother's return for so long now, even if you have not." Jason almost started – he _had_ missed his mother. That wasn't fair. But Minos continued, unaware of this: "And though you may not believe it, this is _not_ how I had imagined I would be spending my evening on her return." Jason grimaced, partly from guilt and partly because that really wasn't an image he wanted in his head. "You are fortunate," Minos barked, "that I do _not_ wish to spend my evening beating one of my children!" Something instantly flared inside Jason but fear, guilt and uncertainty quashed it and Pythagoras' warning fell too late on his ears.

The king sighed, sharply. "I am disappointed, Jason. Retire to your chambers and we shall both work hard to put this incident behind us and to focus our attention on the Games."

That had been the end of it and Jason only prayed Minos meant what he said about forgetting the incident. Though he had worked _so_ hard to win his stepfather's approval the last couple of weeks that the thought that he might have blown it all in one evening was eating away at him. And that damned bite on his wrist had been building all evening – becoming more and more heated and irritated.

He turned over again in his bed, the sheets clinging uncomfortably to his back. Whether it was the heat of the evening or his own turbulent emotions that was making him so restless, he couldn't be sure. The air was thick and heavy and Jason suddenly found it a little hard to breathe. As he lay against the pillows, his heart began to thud more loudly and quickly in his chest. A tingle in his arms produced the very first, faint slivers of panic. In the blackness surrounding him, Jason suddenly became aware that the harsh, rasping sound that had been in the back of his mind, was in fact, his breathing.

A chill took him even as his body burned. Water. He could really use a drink of water. He must be dehydrated. He never had eaten dinner in the end though Minos had seen that a tray of food was sent to his room. A jug of water and a cup rested on a table nearby. Cautiously, Jason eased his legs over the edge of the bed and sat up. His body was shaking. Jason tried again to fight down the rising fear. He had an overwhelming urge to call out to his friends. Pythagoras would come in an instant. He would be there with a tonic and Hercules would produce that ever-ready damp cloth to mop his brow and he would tuck him back into bed and lull him to sleep with tall tales of his past exploits. Jason loved listening to them. But of course, there was no-one there.

On trembling legs, he pushed himself up standing and stumbled over to the jug but as he tried to pour the water, his arms gave out and the jug fell to the floor, shattering in the process and spilling the water everywhere. It seemed to Jason that the sound of the crash followed much later than the impact itself. Dimly, aware his head was swimming, Jason pitched forwards. His hand automatically shot out to catch what he could and his fingers uselessly brushed the edge of the table. The sense of falling was both liberating and terrifying at the same time. A part of Jason's mind told him to stop the fall. The other part didn't tell him _how_ to. He fell on his hands and knees, panting hard and vaguely aware of wetness seeping through the legs of his trousers and the palms of his hands. A burning spread throughout him – a fire that could not be quenched.

For a moment, Jason rolled on to his side and lay there. The stillness helped. It calmed his mind, eased his pains away to a recess where they would not bother him. His blood pumped in his ears and as his breathing turned to short, sharp gasps, the lack of oxygen produced a pleasantly light-headed effect. It was warmer than his previous chill. Drowsy, even.

_You can't stay on the floor_, a voice in his head nagged him. It sounded a lot like Pythagoras. _Get up, Jason_.

So Jason groaned softly and rolled back onto his knees. With one hand gripping the edge of the table and with pain lancing through his arms, his chest, his legs, Jason eventually levied himself up standing. His head swam, viscously and the boy was dimly aware of his stomach heaving, moments before retching violently. The resulting, acrid stench made him retch again. The pain it caused actually brought tears to his eyes and he longed even more for that spilt water.

_You have to get out_, the voice told him. _Get some help_. Help? Help. Yes, he needed some help. Maybe a tonic? But where did he go? He'd never been sick before at the Palace. Ariadne was staying with Semele in the wing set aside for the family. Jason didn't know where that was and anyway, Temenos didn't like him. He shouldn't go there.

Jason stumbled to the door of his room and almost fell onto the handle, pushing down on it more from the need to rest his weight than out of a conscious move to open it. The door _did_ open, however and the force with which Jason was leaning meant it slammed open and he fell through to the corridor outside, hitting the stone floor in a crumpled heap. Another groan escaped his lips, followed by a quiet sob. The pain was excruciating, consuming.

_Go somewhere_, his voice urged him. _Find someone, go somewhere_. There must be a healer's wing somewhere. There _must_ be. But where was it? Through dancing, blackening vision, Jason heaved his head up off the floor and looked around for a servant or a guard to ask. But it was the middle of the night and no-one was here. They were sleeping. Like _he_ should be. What about his parents? Pasiphae would help him, wouldn't she? A ray of hope suddenly pierced the blackness and Jason fought to keep a hold of it. His dark curls clung to his pale forehead. She was angry with him but she might still help him? And Minos? He didn't want to see him again tonight but maybe if he apologised? Maybe if he just stayed long enough for Pasiphae to take him to the healers? Then it might be alright?

His limbs were shutting down. Jason could feel it – the muscles stiffening, the heartbeats slowing. He didn't have much time to make it to his parents' chambers. It seemed that he had only just left that place and now he was destined to return again so soon. Rolling back onto his front, Jason placed a hand against the wall and managed to claw his way back up the wall until he was half bent over and leaning heavily against it. He moved as though in a kind of trance. Every step sent excruciating pain lancing through his body. He had been sick again, he was aware of that though Jason couldn't remember exactly when. It was with some shock that he suddenly registered that he was standing outside their door. It was closed, of course. His parents were sleeping. He shouldn't wake them. He shouldn't. But he hurt _so_ badly and he wanted it to stop. His mother could make it stop. He was afraid. It felt _so_ childish but at that moment, Jason _longed_ to see her.

His legs crumpled once more and Jason slid to the floor, white and trembling, chest rising faintly. He _had_ to knock on the door but his arms wouldn't cooperate. Desperately, he tried to cry out. A dry, rasping wheeze emitted from his throat: nothing more. Jason felt his head lull back against the wall and his eyelids flutter. Jason dimly became aware of something sticky and wet on his face and his nostrils momentarily flared with a familiar coppery smell. He tasted it in his mouth. He would just rest here for a bit. Just for a bit.

_Get up!_ The voice was calling again. But he was _so_ tired and he _could not_ move. And so Jason lay on the floor and he stared at the door and eventually, his eyes closed.

* * *

Right. That's it for now. Thanks very much for making it down this far.


	10. Chapter 10

Standard disclaimer applies – I don't own them.

Sorry about the wait for this chapter and the fact that it waffles on a fair bit! But I hope you enjoy it. Thank you to everyone who reviewed the last chapter and has encouraged this one. Thank you also to _Ash_, _Susan_, _JMP_ and my 'Guests' who I cannot respond to any other way, but I really appreciate your feedback.

Chapter 10

There was a slight chill in the air that night but despite the infrequent ripples of cold air that permeated the room, Pasiphae kept the curtains opened and the doors to the balcony slightly ajar. The chill helped though she wasn't certain why. The moon was full that night and bright – so bright. The goddess Artemis must be hunting tonight – casting her lure across the land. The queen lay awake, one arm draped above her head. She watched the ivory curtains ripple against the terracotta walls. In the pale moonlight, the beautiful reds and golds shone just as beautifully as blacks and silvers. Her husband lay beside her, deep in sleep. It was strange: the first few weeks after recovering from his deathly illness, his nights were spent in anguish, tossing and turning as his body fought to rid itself of the last of the poison. Even after this, his sleep was far from restful – he had seemed uneasy about succumbing to a loss of control. But now, something had shifted: her husband slept as though Cerberus himself would not wake him if it were baying at the door.

The queen turned her head from the doors to the man, her expression impassive yet thoughtful. Having been away for so long, she had known he would expect her to lay with him that night. His neediness was an irritation yet also a powerful means of control. But she played her part – ever the dutiful wife. Sometimes, especially of late, Pasiphae could almost close her eyes for a moment and believe it. Sometimes. Minos sighed in his sleep and his forehead creased. She watched the worry lines play across his face as his dreams entangled him. For several minutes she lay and observed him, curious to see the twitching of his eyes. Then, absently, Pasiphae removed the arm from above her head and ran her hand gently down the side of his face. It took only a moment for her husband to still. How easily he trusted her.

She retracted her hand and carefully rolled over to turn her back on him, facing the window. Her mind was not at ease and sleep evaded her. Jason weighed heavily on her mind, invading her thoughts. She had not seen him – not since leaving him alone with Minos in their chambers and though Minos assured her that he was well, something still ate away at her. It nagged at her maternal instincts, preventing her from rest. She had never pictured herself as a weak mother – one who would fret and fuss and spoil their child as she had seen others do. No. Jason had _required_ discipline – fair but resolute - and a small part of her felt that Minos had been too lenient. Too weak. But he was such a _sensitive_ boy and her husband had been _so_ angry with him. If _she_ could not sleep, then what of her son? Absently she curled a lock of her hair around and around her finger. Outside the window, an owl suddenly screeched loudly. The harsh noise made her jump and her heart beat fast as the steady beat of its wings flapped past. She thought of the sparrow-hawk that she had seen with Jason in the gardens and an almost overwhelming urge to check that her son slept peacefully overcame her.

Just briefly – just a quick look to ensure he was resting. And if he _was_ awake and fretting? Pasiphae paused a moment, as she sat up, resting on the edge of the bed. Was it _weakness_ to sit and soothe him to sleep? To stroke his hair and tell him not to worry – that he was forgiven? That she loved him? She hesitated, her bare toes running through the fur rug beneath her feet. No. It was not weakness. As his mother, it was her right – her right to offer comfort after correction. Standing, Pasiphae quickly retrieved her silk robe from the back of the chair that stood before her dressing table and put it on over her nightdress. She moved silently to the door and lifted the latch, casting one glance back to her husband. He still slept and would probably not wake during her absence.

A torch burned in a sconce outside their chambers and, not wishing to flood the room with its light and disturb her husband, Pasiphae opened the door just wide enough to slip through, carefully shutting it behind her with a soft click. She had actually taken three steps down the hallway before she stopped. Something had caught the corner of her eye – something lying against the wall, opposite her door. A shape. A human-like shape. Pasiphae went cold. Slowly, she pivoted back round and as she turned, the shape gained the definition and the clarity of a man. A guard perhaps? Attacked? Something told her no. Her eyes took the crumpled figure in: his slender form; his dark brown curls; his youthful face.

"Jason!" she breathed, her own face draining. "Jason!" This time her cry was loud and sharp. Terrified. Immediately, she knelt by her son. _Do not be dead_, she prayed over and over in her head. _Do not be dead – by the Gods please do not be dead_. She cupped her hands around his pale face, trying not to let the sight of the smeared blood that cased his cheeks and brow make her believe the worst. He was perspiring – thank the gods! He still lived. "Jason," she whispered, urgently. She gave his head a small shake. "Wake up, Jason." The boy was burning up and now that she was next to him, his body leaning up against her, she could feel his trembling. With tears in her own eyes, Pasiphae rubbed her thumbs in circles around his face and gently patted his cheeks. "Wake up, Jason. Open your eyes my love." There was breath on her hand – she could feel it and it made her heart jolt. The breath was feather-light but it was there nonetheless. "Come on, Sweetheart – open your eyes."

Loathe to tear her gaze away from his face, Pasiphae briefly did so, casting an appraising eye down the length of his body. Blood soaked the legs of his trousers and there were deep gashes on the palms of his hands but neither looked life-threatening. There were no other injuries that she could immediately see on his body and so she quickly moved her hands to his scalp, running her fingers through his hair and across his skull. She could feel no bleeding – no damage. With a faint sigh of relief, she assumed the blood on his face had come from contact with his bleeding hands. Though what damage might lie _within_ him, she could not tell. And then, ever so slowly, Jason's eyelids began to flutter. From the back of his throat, he let out a faint groan.

"_Jason_?" Pasiphae was almost shouting in her desperation to see him wake. From within her chambers, she heard the sound of moving about and hasty footsteps but all she could focus on was her son. Bright, water-filled hazel eyes greeted her through half-mast lids. But they were her _son's_ eyes and he _was_ looking at her and on that crucial fact, Pasiphae marshalled her hope. The door flung open and Minos almost hung in the doorway, eyes wide and alert. When he saw his wife, knelt over the inert body of his stepson, he gasped. The boy looked like he was at death's door: he was so pale and obviously feverish and from the faint sounds that he made and from the uneven rising and falling of his chest, Minos did not like the look of his breathing, either. The blood on the boy's face made his own run cold.

"Guards!" he called. Pasiphae turned her head back to look at him. Her eyes were as scared and as desperate as he could remember seeing them. Minos took a step forward, placing one hand on his wife's shoulder. He could feel her frame taut beneath him.

"He is waking," she whispered, swallowing past a painful lump in her throat. She looked back to the ashen boy, soaked in sweat and groaning faintly, writhing from side to side and she ran her hands along his face, smoothing away the pain. "Sssh," she hushed, though her own voice cracked. "Sssh, Sweetheart. All is well." Minos watched, transfixed, his heart beating hard. The boy had seemed perfectly well when he had last seen him not so long ago. What could have happened in so short a time?

Drumming footsteps suddenly sounded, coming steadily closer. Minos stepped away from his wife and stepson to meet the approaching troop of guards. Keeping his voice low, he addressed their leader:

"Captain, divide your men. I want the physicians brought down to my chambers immediately, men to go to my stepson's chambers and investigate what has happened and…" Here he paused and shot a dark look at the slumped figure of his stepson. "Send a guard to King Temenos' chambers. Do not enter but ensure that he is within and keep watch. He is not to leave this Palace until further investigations have been made." Again, he cast a look to his wife and moved a few paces away from them. "The Princess Ariadne is next to Temenos' daughter. Do not disturb either of them but…see that she is well."

The captain of the guards nodded and bowed. Then he turned to his men, quietly issuing orders to them. The men scattered to their posts but before the captain could enquire as to his next move, Minos called to him. "Help me move him into my chambers." Carefully, aware that Pasiphae would not appreciate being made to leave her son's side, even for a moment, Minos knelt down next to her, his knees brushing against the young man's trembling body. He placed a hand on her arm and gently but firmly pushed her back. "My love," he said, quietly. "You must let us move him into our chambers where he can be properly attended to." Pasiphae had been staring intently at her son's face, her manner and her expression so soothing and gentle as she whispered her litanies of comfort to the boy that had Minos not been expecting it, the fiery venom that lined her features when she snapped her head round to face him, would have frightened the wits out of him. As it was though, he firmly held her savage glare and pressed softly again: "Step away and let us move him."

Finally, the king's words seemed to penetrate her thoughts and once they had sunk in, Pasiphae almost started as the rest of the world came flooding back into her vision. Hastily, she nodded and reluctantly shuffled backwards from her son. As she left, Jason's head lulled towards her and through watery, heavy-lidded eyes, he watched her go. A tiny murmur breathed past his lips as her comfort receded but it was not long before he felt strong hands grasp him under his shoulders and, moments later, another set of hands grip him firmly around his ankles. Panic gripped him as the world still swam around him and he could be sure of nothing except his mother's sudden absence. Dimly, Jason lifted his hands and blindly tried to push at the arms that secured him. Having all the strength of a newborn kitten meant that Jason only managed to ineffectively paw at the arms. However, as he was suddenly hoisted into the air, a deep quiet voice murmured close to his ear: "Just relax, Jason – we're almost there." He couldn't exactly _place_ the voice, but he _knew_ it and it sounded like it knew what it was talking about and that security made Jason feel a little better. So the boy did as the voice instructed and slumped back into the hold.

* * *

It was easier, Pasiphae had decided, having something to do. Once Jason had been carefully lowered onto the bed and the pillows secured his head, she immediately brushed past her husband and perched on the edge of the mattress, running a hand down the side of her son's clammy face as the boy continued to fret and writhe distractedly, his young face screwed up in pain. Minos moved aside for her easily and went to the door, ordering the hovering servant to fetch water and cloths. He did not go near the bed again, sensing that was his wife's place, but paced up and down by the door, waiting for the return of either the guards, the servant or the arrival of the physicians.

"It's alright, Jason," Pasiphae soothed, speaking in a low, quiet voice to her son. Silent tears were streaming down Jason's cheeks though Pasiphae wondered, from the slight redness and swelling around his eyes, if they were from the pain or if his eyes simply watered. Either way, she used her thumbs to wipe them away as she cradled his face between her hands for a moment. Jason gasped as a wave of pain overtook him and his eyes screwed tightly shut. He held his breath. The queen watched as his body suddenly went rigid and his head began to shake. She felt her husband take a step closer to them both but she did not turn around. The muscles in Jason's arms were stretched tight – she could see them beneath the lean, tanned skin. Tracing her gaze down his body, she saw the same rigidity in his calves and then across his abdomen as one by one, the muscles in the boy's body spasmed and cramped uncontrollably.

Her eyes widened ever so slightly and she tensed, feeling Minos' hand on her shoulder. "The physician will be here soon," he assured her. She could only nod, tightly, never taking her eyes from her child. For at that moment, the years meant nothing to her, nor his physical prowess – he was a child to her: he was _her_ child. Jason cried out sharply, the scream ripping its way out of the back of his throat and his back arched, his head digging in to the mattress. Blindly, Jason's hands pounded on the bed beside him and his fingers clamped and unclamped, desperately trying to latch on to something to ground the pain. His mother's fingers instantly found their way into his scrabbling grasp and he closed his grip around her.

"It's alright, Jason," she assured the boy. "This will pass. I promise. This will pass." His hand gripped hers tightly again as another wave of spasm rocked his body. Jason's face screwed up once again but this time he swallowed his scream as his head shook more forcefully. The lad was desperately trying to master the pain – to contain his reaction to it and the strain that was putting on his body only made matters worse. On seeing this, Pasiphae exhaled, sharply and her voice etched up a level: "Do not _fight_ this, Jason! Save your strength for what _matters_, you silly boy." Her own anxiety may have caused the queen to be harsher than she would have liked, but it did not prevent her from drawing her son's head into her lap and kissing the top of his head. With her lips pressed against his hair, she whispered: "If you have cause to feel it, then let yourself feel it. I am here, my love, I am here." A faint, sad smile crossed her lips as she looked down at the sweat-soaked young face, trembling in her hands. The boy gasped again and this time his eyes opened wide. He breathed in harsh, painful gasps and his fingers clenched, his body starting to rock, feet scrambling against the bed as he pushed himself upwards, causing Pasiphae to anchor herself more firmly against him. Watching her son's pain, Pasiphae could only hold him closer, feeling his heat radiating through her gown. But eventually, she felt his body slump back down against her, pain and exertion leaving him limp and a faint whimper escaped his lips. Tired, tortured hazel eyes stared up at her with such confusion and such fear. He gasped again and released it in a very quiet sob.

She bowed her head down to him again and smiled, softly. "There now," she whispered. "We shall feel it together, my brave, _silly_ boy."

Jason's disorientated writhing stilled for a moment and he almost appeared to be sleeping. If it weren't for the pain that still screwed his face up or the way he still moved his head faintly from side to side, whispering nonsensical words, Pasiphae might have believed that he had indeed succumbed to slumber. As it was though, in a relative moment of calm, she allowed herself time to think again, to begin to piece together that night's events.

Turning her head, her eyes met her husband's. Minos still kept his distance but he had drawn up a chair from her dressing table and perched himself on the edge of it. He looked tense – ready to leap out of his seat at the first sign of approaching help. He had watched his wife and stepson with mild alarm. The boy was conscious, although clearly feverish and wracked with pain. His breathing was unsteady but he _was_ breathing and though the blood on his face and body was alarming, it did not, as he had first feared, look as though the boy was bleeding from a significant injury. But now that his stepson was resting, his wife was no longer occupied solely on countering the _effect_ and would now, he knew, turn her mind to the _cause_.

"I do not understand how this has happened. He seemed well this evening." She looked at him, hard. "Was he ill when you spoke to him?" For a moment she imagined her husband, lecturing and chastising her son while his health plainly deteriorated before his eyes and her thoughts ran cold. She had been prepared for him to punish the boy, not _neglect_ him. But the honest confusion and concern in her husband's eyes managed to quiet the boiling waters beneath the surface.

"He was well," the man assured her, looking down on the inert young man, now stilled beneath his mother's touch. "I was _angry_ and he was…subdued. But he was not ill." Minos' explanation faltered as, briefly, he wondered at his own words. _Had_ the boy been ill when he had stood there berating him? Had he missed Jason's pain? His stepson, now that the spasms that wracked his body had temporarily subsided, was worryingly still. He had not known the boy long, but from what little he had seen of him, this stillness did not suit his nature. The possibility, however remote, that he might have missed something, that he might have been able to prevent this, now began to worry at the edge of the king's mind.

However, Pasiphae nodded, accepting his version of events at least for the time being. She turned back to her son and gently lifted Jason's head off her lap and back onto the pillows. Then, taking care not to disturb what rest he seemed to be getting, she began to ease his arms out of the sleeves of his nightshirt and then gently manoeuvre the garment over his head. Jason mumbled incoherently at the movement but nothing more. At that moment, the serving girl returned with a jug of warm water and some strips of cloth, hovering in the doorway until Minos almost irritably beckoned her inside.

Aware of the tension in the room, the girl deposited her items on the floor by the bed, casting a curious look at Jason as she rose. The young prince was still something of an unknown factor amongst the palace but from what little interactions he had had with them, he always treated the servants and slaves with great kindness and respect. There were some who had immediately taken to him and others who were yet to warm up to the strange new lad but none who would wish the care-free young man any harm.

Hastily, the girl bowed to her king and queen and left the room, no doubt to report the gossip to those still awake in the kitchens. Pasiphae had barely noted her entrance much less her exit. Instead she picked up the cloth and soaked it in the water. When she had wrung it out, she turned her attention to Jason's hands. The physician could deal with his fever and pain but she could at least clean his wounds and in so doing, perhaps gain a greater understanding of how they came to be. Turning over one hand, she gently swiped at the blood, lightly hissing as she noted how deep the lacerations ran. They would need to be properly cleansed and bound.

Minos hovered at her shoulder and she resisted the urge to snap at his smothering proximity. "Are these defensive wounds?" Her husband's question surprised her. It had never occurred to Pasiphae that Jason may have been attacked – that this may be the cause of one man's deliberate actions and not the will of the Gods. How had that possibility escaped her? She cast a startled look at Minos and then back to her son's hands. From within his delirium, the pain of his mother's ministrations still registered with Jason and he tried tugging his hands away. Pasiphae held on to them tightly even as she inspected them more closely. Something sharp protruded through the skin and she took a harsh breath in. A broken shard of a blade perhaps?

"I need light," she muttered and Minos quickly went and retrieved a small oil lamp from the bedside table, holding it just above the hand in question. Gently, Pasiphae probed at the sharp edge, wedged firmly within the wound, trying to ignore her son's resulting whimper. The queen sighed in frustration. It was embedded too deeply to extract with her fingernails. She needed the instruments that the doctor would bring. Muttering under her breath, she placed the hand back down on the bed and picked up Jason's other hand, turning it palm upwards. More blood soaked it and ran down his arm and she once more washed the worst of it away. A larger fragment was visible here and she quickly latched on to it with her thumb and forefinger, carefully teasing it further and further towards her until it finally pulled free.

Curiously, she held it up to the light that Minos provided. "It is not metal," she began, allaying the worst of her fears. Though her eyesight was not perhaps all that it once was, she still saw sharply enough even in this dim light. The green triangular fragment suddenly clicked into place even if its presence did not make sense. "It is a shard of broken glass," Pasiphae announced. She pressed her lips together, grimly. Just what had her son been doing? "The wounds must be thoroughly flushed out if they are to be free of these fragments." Sighing heavily, Pasiphae bent to dip the cloth back in the water when something caught her eye. There was something wrong with the inside of Jason's wrist. What she had first taken for blood from his wounds, now appeared discoloured beneath, too. The flesh looked swollen.

"What is this?" she asked, quietly, carefully washing the sticky blood away that clung to his flesh. As the skin gradually appeared beneath the blood, a large pattern of concentric circles emerged, alternating in red and white colours. Two tiny prick marks were visible on the centre circle, almost purple in colour.

Minos peered over shoulder, holding the light closer. "What is that?" he echoed.

Pasiphae narrowed her eyes, inspecting the site more closely. "A bite mark," she announced, her tone both anxious and curious. "From the size of the marks, I would venture it was some kind of a spider, rather than a serpent." She threw a puzzled look at Minos. "I have seen these bites before but his reaction to it is…"

At that moment, a commotion outside the room stopped her short and they both looked to the door to see a guard return, bringing with him a man in a long, white chiton.

"At last," Minos muttered, as he ushered the doctor into the room, temporarily removing Pasiphae from her post and from any further speculation.

* * *

The doctor, a man named Perakles, was one of several who had served the Palace loyally for nearly thirty years. He was one of only a handful of servants to have served in both kings' households. After the take-over, after the betrayals and alliances of the war, many servants who were suspected of duplicity or outright disloyalty were either dismissed or executed. He was one of those counted by both the queen and the new king, to be trustworthy. Perakles had seen the king through his most recent, puzzling illness, though the queen had insisted she take over in that capacity and he had seen the royal children through their childhood falls and sickness. He was no stranger to the demands placed upon a royal physician. To be woken in the middle of the night therefore had not been especially surprising though it still worried him. The doctor had quickly set about examining the young prince, asking his necessary questions to the waiting king and queen, trying to gauge a picture of the evening's events.

Minos watched him work with quiet efficiency, moving surely and calmly and he immediately felt his own nerves rest a little easier. Having been assured that Temenos had played no part in the night's unfortunate events, Minos had called away the guard from his chambers. But still, the mystery surrounding the boy's illness was unsettling and Minos felt much better, knowing that Perakles, a man he trusted well, was here.

Perakles frowned at the constant presence of Pasiphae, hovering near the head of her son and Minos could almost hear his silent disapproval that hysterical mothers had no business being in the room. The king smirked to himself: if the good doctor would like to try and remove her, he could be his guest. Minos observed the frown creasing the doctor's forehead as he examined the puncture wounds on Jason's wrist as Jason himself moaned and muttered under his breath. Without his mother to quiet him, the boy was restless and confused, often pushing away the doctor's hands and resisting his efforts to examine him.

Fortunately, the man's assessment had been swift. "The bite on his arm is from an insect of some kind."

"A spider," Pasiphae interrupted, eyes still trained on her son as she itched to be back by his side again. "I have seen this wound before. The spider has an orange and black belly." Perakales had known the queen for many years and knew enough of her particular intelligence not to question her over a matter on which she appeared so deadly resolute. He glanced back down to the boy on whose clammy forehead he rested his weathered palm. That this was the same boy he had watched grow during his mother's pregnancy and carefully examined for abnormalities once he had been born, still astounded him.

"Indeed," he agreed. "The bite is clearly venomous though the young prince's reaction to it is strong." He paused, speculatively. "Stronger than I would have imagined it would be. Only the very young or elderly or the sick usually succumb with such pain." His keen, grey eyes looked to Minos. "Has he been ill, of late?"

Minos' eyes widened a moment. Circumventing Pasiphae on matters regarding her son was _never_ a wise move: to do so now was tantamount to stupidity. He cleared his throat and looked pointedly at his wife. "He has seemed well, has he not?" The woman's expression was a little darker than moments ago but she nodded, tightly.

"Tired, perhaps." She hesitated. "He…travels a lot." She stepped to the bed and brushed a hand through his hair, ignoring the doctor's barely restrained sigh. "He has been working hard."

Absently, Perakles nodded. "I shall prepare some tonics for his fever and pain and poultices to counteract the venom." He paused, sensing the answer to his question before asking it: "I can sit with him tonight and administer the tonics and compresses – the mustard and garlic poultice will need to be removed and reapplied frequently in case it irritates the skin. But if you prefer to do so yourself?"

Pasiphae shook her head, sharply. "I shall sit with him."

"My love," Minos interrupted, "you have been travelling yourself and need your rest…"

"I am his _mother_ and _I_ shall sit with him." Her reply brooked no argument and in any event, Minos knew it was not the time to argue. Later, when she was calmer and Jason mending, he would try again to draw her from her post. His wife was strong but even she needed rest. So he simply nodded.

"As you wish, my dear." Then he turned worried, tired eyes to Perakles. "But he will be alright?"

"I have absolute faith the young prince will be well though I am sorry to say that his night will not pass easily: his heart beats fast and he breathes with some difficulty. His muscles cramp and his fever is causing the sickness and confusion. But once the poultices and tonics do their work, and with the grace of the Gods, his fever and pains should be gone within a day or so. There may perhaps be some lingering weakness in his muscles but he will regain his strength with rest and a careful diet." Then the man smiled. "Try not to be concerned, Your Majesty. Now, I imagine the boy will rest easier in his own bed. When he is properly settled, I shall tend to the wounds in his hands and legs. Do we know what caused them?"

Minos nodded, relief flooding through him: a quiet, pale and weak Jason was not a sight he was used to and it unnerved him no end. The sooner the lad's insatiable energy and carefree nonchalance returned, the better. "The servants are cleaning his room. I have heard that a jug of water has smashed on the floor and they have found blood there. We assume he fell onto the shards when he collapsed. We shall move him when we know his room is ready."

"Then I shall return to my supplies, gather my materials and join you in the prince's chambers, momentarily."

With that, Perakles bowed and left the room. Minos sighed and came to sit next to his wife on their bed. Beside them, Jason trembled and turned from side to side, occasionally mumbling strange words. Pasiphae pulled a blanket from the foot of the bed and draped it over her son as Minos placed a warm hand on her arm and smiled at her. "He will be fine, Pasiphae. We must pray to the Gods and do as the doctor says. Now come, you should dress if you are going to sit with him. The night is not so warm." The queen cast a hesitant look down to her son, loathed to leave him. "I shall watch him," Minos assured her firmly. "Now go, please."

Pasiphae sighed, rotating her stiff neck as the events of the night began to catch up with her. He was right – she could not wander the Palace in her night robe and even Minos could not go wrong, watching over a young man who could not move. Smiling wearily, she leaned over and kissed her husband lightly on the cheek. "Very well. Thank you." Then she leaned down and laid a gentle kiss on Jason's forehead before rising and heading to her own apartments to change.

* * *

The oil lamps in Jason's room were starting to smoke. The air was becoming thicker and Jason's breathing, although it had shown signs of easing over the last hour or so, was still not strong enough to combat the fumes. Pasiphae leaned back in her chair and closed her eyes for a moment. Then she rose and went to the door, summoning the servant who waited just outside, allowing her the privacy she had demanded. A quick command and the young girl had been tasked to trim the offending lamps and when that was done, to replenish the water and cloths that Pasiphae used to cool her son and to bring more refreshments to the room. She watched the girl quickly trim the wicks and when she had left to fulfil her other tasks, Pasiphae slowly returned to her chair, stationed by the head of Jason's bed.

He lay bare-chested, yet covered by a thin blanket and he slept fitfully. On a small table by her chair rested a bowl of water and some cloths, along with thicker strips of cloth for the poultice and bottles of tonics. She had managed to get Jason to drink the water infused with rosemary willow, to bring down his fever but he had quickly slipped back to the pillows after reluctantly swallowing a few mouthfuls. Still, it appeared to be helping to ease his fever and let him rest more peacefully. Pasiphae dipped the cloth into the water once more and laid it across his forehead. Jason's hazel eyes opened sleepily and the boy stared up at her under heavy eyelids.

"Hello," she whispered, smiling at the trusting eyes that met hers. "Try to sleep, Jason. You will feel better." Jason sighed and though he didn't speak, he nodded his head slowly and faintly and his eyes slipped shut again. Pasiphae shook her head, fondly. If only he were this compliant when awake. Taking another damp cloth, she carefully pulled back the blanket and began to wipe down his chest and arms, bathing away the grime of sweat. She checked the bite mark, noting the reduction in the inflammation with a satisfied nod. Carefully, she gently swiped at the wound, cleansing it of some of the residue of the compress. Jason had not liked the mustard compress and had continually, even in the depths of confusion and weariness, swiped it off his arm. Whether it was because it burned or because it had a most unpleasant aroma, the queen wasn't sure. But what was certain, was that her son's stubbornness would not be diminished by illness.

Finally, she had compromised by holding the poultice onto his arm for short intervals before allowing the boy to rest without it. But now it was time to begin the battle again. Whether Jason liked it or not, it was for his own good. With quiet determination, Pasiphae took up the compress, checked it was not leaking, and held it firmly against her son's arm. Immediately, Jason bucked a little and tried to pull his arm away but his mother had been expecting this and grabbed his wrist, holding him still.

"Just for a little while, Jason," she said quietly. She almost laughed at the disgruntled response as Jason's face screwed up into confused unhappiness, his lower lip protruding. Her son's other arm suddenly rose up to pull the cold cloth off his forehead and if she didn't know any better, Pasiphae would swear it was in sullen protest at being made to keep the compress on his arm. "Jason." Her voice took on a lightly warning tone that she knew the boy still responded to, even in his current state. "Leave it where it is." She quickly scooped it up off the bed and replaced it on his head and as soon as she had released his wrist to do so, she felt the boy tug once more at his arm.

Pasiphae frowned at her son and shook her head, even as a smile played on her lips. "My, you are persistent and more than a little devious," she remarked, lightly scolding. "Do not make me resort to drastic measures."

Jason opened his eyes again and looked to her with renewed unhappiness, imploring her to acquiesce and just leave him to sleep without these ministrations. But his mother would not be swayed. "Just a little while, my love," the woman assured him.

"Hurts," he mumbled back and Pasiphae started a little. Though Jason had been muttering a string of words throughout his illness, this was the first time he had responded with any awareness to his surroundings. She felt her hope rise.

"I know. But it is cleansing the poison from your bite. Let it do its job." And so, reluctantly, Jason relaxed some of the tension in his arm and his head lulled back to one side. His eyes though, remained open, passively staring at his mother as she held the cloth against his arm. The queen smiled, seeing the hazel eyes watching her.

"You should try to sleep," she reiterated, knowing the boy was clearly exhausted. "Are you not tired?" At that moment, the door opened and the serving girl returned, carrying her supplies. Pasiphae moved away a moment to allow her room to place her tray down on the small table before bowing and hurrying out of the room. Jason still watched her, sleepily, stubbornly.

Sighing, Pasiphae shook her head and picked up one of the cups from the table. "Then if you are not going to sleep, you may sit up and take some more tonic." She tried very hard not to smile knowingly when she saw her son shrink back into the pillows and turn his head away.

Apparently, Jason was becoming more alert than she realised. "No, mum," he muttered beseechingly and ever so sleepily, as he screwed his eyes shut.

Pasiphae considered his words curiously for a moment: it was not a title she recognised but Jason apparently intended it for her. Either way, his eyes were shut once more and she smiled down on him. "Good boy," the queen encouraged, softly. She removed the poultice and briefly pressed the damp cloth against his wound, cooling the skin. Running a hand through his dark locks, it was not long before Jason slipped back to a relatively peaceful-looking sleep. Pasiphae watched his face gradually still, the lines of pain and confusion slowly smoothing out. Then she removed the cloth from his forehead and leaned down to pull the blanket back up securely around his shoulders. As her hands drew the material over her son's hips though, she paused. Looking at the boy, really _looking_ at him, made her jolt. How sunken his abdomen suddenly appeared. How his hips protruded from the waist of his trousers. She ran her hands lightly across his stomach and up over his ribs, eyes widening as she detected the bones beneath. Her son had always been trim and well-defined but since when had his body been _reduced_ in such a way? The queen's eyes narrowed as worry seeped inside her heart. Had this been the reason such a relatively harmless bite should have affected the boy so keenly? But Jason _had_ food – he had _plenty_ of food. It was not as though he was one of the beggars that starved on the streets.

Quickly, unwilling to look any longer at her son's sunken form, she secured the blanket around him, smoothing it out on either side until he was nestled within. Perhaps Aeson did not provide enough? Or his friends in the city? Did they always have food on their tables? Jason _did_ spend over half his week with either his friends or his father. But surely Jason would have said something had they been short on supplies? Although, she realised, bitterly, this was _Jason_: his pride and stubbornness knew no bounds. The thought of her son suffering, _weakening_ under the watch of others made her blood boil. That a royal prince should go hungry when she had food enough to feed him for a lifetime was astounding and the queen did not intend to let this continue.

With a grim determination, Pasiphae rose and moved to the balcony, her muscles stiff from sitting so long. She drew back the curtains and looked out over the orchard below as the first tendrils of reds and pinks warmed the horizon. The new day was beginning to dawn, Jason was sleeping and as she leaned against the doorframe, Pasiphae allowed her eyes to close, breathing in the morning.

* * *

Sun was streaming through the windows when Jason next opened his eyes. In the distance, the cockerels crowed but this time, their familiar call made Jason smile softly. He was comfortably spread out across his bed, arms draped across the pillows and his legs kicked out from beneath the blankets. His head ached keenly when he tried to move it and a dull throbbing pulsated through his arms and legs. Jason tried to push himself to sit up, but his muscles trembled and his arms shook and it wasn't long before he collapsed back onto the mattress with a flop. The pressure on the palms of his hands suddenly blossomed into a deep, sharp pain and he let out a low hiss, bringing his bandaged hands up to his chest.

"Easy now."

Jason jumped at the man's voice, coming from one side of the room. He turned his head to see his stepfather, watching him carefully from where he sat by the small table. He had not realised the king had been in the room with him and Jason sought to order his jumbled thoughts. Vague memories of illness, of pain and disorientation gradually trickled back into his consciousness. But, like half-forgotten dreams, the events leading up to his current state were foggy and disjointed.

"We do not have too many poisonous spiders in Atlantis, but I would trust you to find one of our worst ones in our own garden." Jason's eyes widened as he thought back to the bite on his wrist. He glanced down at the colourful patterns on his skin – it looked like a bullseye on an archery target. At least that explained the throbbing. "The next time you are bitten, Jason, particularly by a spider, do not keep it to yourself." Minos' warning was light, it even held a hint of teasing but despite the levity, Jason could hear the seriousness behind Minos' words. The man had been afraid, though Jason would never have imagined that any illness of his would worry his stepfather. And his mother. Jason's hazy memories consisted mostly of his mother's voice and of her soothing touch.

"Where's Pasiphae?" His voice was croakier and weaker than he had imagined it would sound. God, even _speaking_ was more effort than he'd anticipated. Jason grimaced at the weakness he could feel overpowering his body. This wasn't good. He had things to do.

Minos took a step forwards. He was dressed, Jason noted, in his more informal brown robes rather than his blue and gold attire and this suddenly struck Jason as odd. With so many official preparations to take care of and so many dignitaries to entertain lately, Jason had not seen the man in anything less grand than his official state robes for some time now. "Your mother is resting. She has watched over you all night but I have finally succeeded in rooting her from her post for some much needed sleep."

Guilt washed over Jason and he glanced down at his hands. "She shouldn't have had to do that. I'm sorry." Suddenly, a fit of coughing overcame him, his shoulders shaking with the effort and tears of pain springing to his eyes. Immediately, Minos was next to him, pressing a cup into his hands.

"Drink slowly," the king advised. Jason had brought it to his lips, his face red and eyes watering when he suddenly stopped and raised a suspicious eyebrow.

"What's in it?"

Minos rolled his eyes. Honestly, even when in need of healing aid, this boy was stubbornly resistant! "It is _water_," he emphasised in exasperation. Pasiphae had told him of her battles to make Jason drink his tonics, although the boy _had_ eventually acquiesced when persistently pressed. Even now he watched the lad suspiciously sniff the liquid in the cup before taking a sip and tried not to be offended at his stepson's obvious lack of trust in him. But once he realised the water was indeed water and not that horrible concoction of wine and…_something_, he drank it down gladly sighing as the cool liquid eased his throat and dulled the fire in his chest.

"Better?" Minos asked, taking the cup from him. Wearily, though managing a faint smile, Jason nodded.

"Thank you," he mumbled, embarrassment making him nervous. The king was actually standing by his bed, handing him cups of water: it was _ridiculous_. The man had far more important things to be worrying about than him, especially as he was perfectly capable of looking after himself now. "I'm fine now, Your Majesty," he insisted, cheeks tinged red. "I'm sure you have a lot to do."

"Some," Minos agreed, mildly. "And one such matter is to check on my stepson. I would appreciate it if you did not expend your energy on arguing with me and make my job any harder." He gave Jason an appraising look. "I must report to your mother when she wakes, you know." Despite himself, Jason chuckled as Minos gently pushed him back down against the pillows.

"Can I sit up?" Jason wondered, looking imploringly at the king. "I won't over do it, I promise." Minos' expression turned momentarily severe.

"Do not give me cause to regret it," he warned even as Jason eagerly nodded. He grasped Jason around the shoulders and helped levy him up until he rested with his back against the pillows.

"Thank you," Jason said again. Then he glanced back at the covers. "I'm sorry. About the other night. Or last night. I'm not sure exactly how much time has gone by since…" He trailed off guiltily, glancing up briefly at Minos who sat on the edge of his bed, watching him with a patient expression. Jason took a deep breath. "I'm sorry about King Temenos and not telling you about the clothes thing and not making it to dinner and…" Minos sighed and raised a hand to still him.

"Jason, these incidents are behind us. King Temenos is appeased and as arrogant as he ever was." Jason raised an eyebrow at that, causing Minos to chuckle. "You did not hear that from me," he pressed and Jason nodded, a smile playing on his lips. "And there has been no lasting damage done." Though Minos thought for a moment. "Although, there was something about a horse than needed saddling?"

It took Jason a moment to sort through his memories but finally it came to him. "Oh yes. He's going riding and won't be in for supper. He'd like someone to ready his horse. I forgot to tell someone."

The king laughed, causing Jason to do the same. "So I gathered. And for your information, only one night has passed. It is early afternoon the next day. Your mother left around breakfast time and you have been sleeping since. Ariadne sat with you for a while but she is now with the Princess Semele."

Jason smiled, remembering their conversation from the day before. "Oh yes. The city tour. I'm sure Ariadne was looking forward to that."

Minos tapped him on the leg. "The Princess Semele is a charming young lady," he lightly reprimanded. Then he shot Jason an almost wicked look. "And she seems to have taken quite a shine to you." Jason grimaced making Minos chuckle. "Now then, I have matters to attend to and you need your rest." He rose from the bed.

"I'm fine, Your Majesty," Jason immediately protested. True, his body was still not responding the way he would have liked it to but he had things to do. It was already midway through the day and Pythagoras would be at the colony by now, meeting Myrtle. Jason only prayed she would listen to his friend and follow him. He thought back to his promise. Whatever happened, Jason could not be late.

But Minos glared at him. "The doctor has ordered bed rest for the next day or so," he insisted, firmly. "And you must adhere to this."

"But, what about the Games?"

"The Opening Ceremony is not until tomorrow," the king reminded him, his expression stern. "We shall review your condition in the morning…" Jason opened his mouth to interrupt but before he could voice his protest, Minos swept on. "And _if_ you need to rest during the events themselves then that _shall _be what happens. You have done your part in these Games and done it very well. But they will now proceed on their own merits without your involvement, if need be." He watched the argument in his stepson's eyes, the battle forming in his mind, the set of the lad's jaw. The boy could _try_ and argue with him but he would quickly learn that it would get him nowhere except perhaps the very _opposite_ of where he wanted to be. "Now, lie back down."

For a moment, Jason remained as he was, staring purposefully at Minos as his mind reeled and anxiety lapped at his nerves. This was ridiculous – he did _not_ need to rest. If his body was weak, he needed to strengthen it and the way to do that was through fresh air and exercise. There were more important things at stake than his health – he had a plan to uphold and a promise to keep. He had friends who were relying on him and _nothing_ could get in the way of that. But Minos' stern gaze still held his own mutinous one. The king's expression etched out to a slightly harder one and Jason suddenly felt the fight begin to fade. Damn it but he _was_ tired and sitting up this long was starting to make his head ache a little more. And he had to admit, his stepfather _did_ look kind of scary like that…

With a small sigh, which he belatedly hoped Minos would forgive in light of his illness, Jason settled himself back down on the bed until he was lying flat.

"Now rest," Minos ordered. "There is a bell here, by your bed and servants in the hallway outside. Just ring if you need help. Though I imagine it will not be long before your mother returns." Jason nodded, eyes still downcast until Minos tucked one finger under his chin and lifted his face until Jason raised his eyes to meet the king's. "Do not give her any trouble, Jason." Though he was only too aware that Pasiphae could probably bring the boy in line with much more ease than he could. Nevertheless, he did not release Jason's chin until he had nodded.

"Yes, Sire," Jason said quietly. Then Minos patted him on the shoulder and smiled. Despite his irritation at being made to rest, those simple gestures immediately made Jason feel a little better. "I am very glad that you are feeling better, Jason. But you gave us all a scare lad and neither your mother nor I shall feel happy until you are back to full strength. Now let your body rest and you shall be up and about in no time." And with that, he left Jason alone.

Watching him go, Jason sighed glancing about the room for something to occupy his time during his enforced confinement. His hand reached down the floor by his bed and rummaged underneath until he found his travelling bag and, despite the difficulty of his bandaged hands, pulled it out. From inside, Jason retrieved the dice and games he had packed from home and tipped them out onto his blanket. But his thoughts were elsewhere and the apprehension grew inside him. It would not be long before Pythagoras set off on the return journey to Atlantis and come what may, Jason knew he could not let his friend down.

* * *

That's it for now. Thanks for trawling through this far.


	11. Chapter 11

Standard disclaimer applies – I don't own Atlantis or anyone in it.

Author's Note: Thank you SO much to the people who are still reading and supporting this story. Your feedback means so much to me and really helps me get the next chapter out. Thanks also to _A Nun and a Mouse_ (great name, btw), _Ash_, my lovely _Guest_ and to _Chloe_ – I'm so glad you're liking the story and thanks for your lovely comments: they're great characters to get to play with!

Chapter 11

The sleep had helped tremendously to both enhance Pasiphae's mood and allow her to gain some much needed distance and perspective. Minos assured her that Jason had woken and, though he was still weakened and in some pain, he appeared much more coherent and even had some of his fight back. Though some would argue that was not a good thing. When Pasiphae returned to her son's room, all was quiet. She only prayed that was a favourable omen.

After knocking very lightly on the door, she pushed it open and stepped inside. A figure lay sprawled on the bed, the sunlight bathing his sleeping face. Pasiphae smiled to herself as she wandered to his bed. The blanket was pooled around her son's waist and he lay at an angle that did not look comfortable, stretched out like a cat, with one arm curled by his head and the other laying across his bare stomach. A frown creased her eyes: she had dressed him in a thin tunic before retiring for the morning but he had clearly decided that he did not want it and, looking about the room, Pasiphae could not see what on Earth he had done with the garment. The bandages around his lower legs stood out against the tanned skin and they looked as though the wrappings had shifted during his sleep. The good doctor's bindings were usually far more secure than to unravel within one night: Jason must have been moving restlessly.

A game of knuckle bones had been discarded haphazardly by his hip before he had fallen asleep. Watching his face in the late afternoon light, Pasiphae frowned. The fever was gone but she had hoped for more colour to have returned to his cheeks by now. As it was, Jason's skin was still contrastingly pale to his wild brown curls and dark shadows hung heavily beneath his eyes. With quiet deliberation, she gathered up the forgotten game and placed it on his bedside table being careful not to wake him as she leant across his sleeping form. His leather bag lay by the bed. It was a worn old thing that he brought with him from his friends in the city and Pasiphae irritably pushed it back under the bed with her foot, stowing it out of sight so that she could move around him, freely. She then set about straightening the blanket until it covered him more completely, tucking the legs back onto the bed.

Though she tried to be careful, when Pasiphae looked to Jason's face, she sighed when she saw a pair of lax, inquisitive eyes watching her. "I tried not to wake you." Jason smiled up at her in response. He watched her with lazy, peaceful eyes and as Pasiphae ran a hand across his forehead, she could not recall Jason watching her with such trust and benevolence before. Not since he was a baby and had lain in her arms, watching her gently rocking him to sleep. For the first time in a very long time she _felt_ like his mother again.

"How are you feeling?" the queen asked, perching lightly on the edge of his bed. Jason yawned and stretched, rubbing his bandaged hand across his face.

"Fine," he mumbled. "Thanks for staying with me last night." The boy glanced down at his chest. "I'm sorry I kept you up." He gave a short, unhappy laugh. "I've been causing a lot of trouble lately, for everyone."

His mother briskly rolled her eyes and tapped a hand against his chest. "Well, it is true that you are proving quite eventful but I do so _despise_ tedium and stagnation and _you_, my dear, troublesome child, are a remedy for both." Jason sighed quietly but a moment later, felt his mother's warm hand on his face. He looked up to see her smiling - a sad, faint smile. "You frightened me, Jason. Do not do that to me again." With an almost shy, hesitant smile, Jason chuckled:

"Trust me, I really don't intend to." He reached across to find his mother's hand and gave her fingers a gentle, reassuring squeeze which she soon returned. "I'm fine now, really – you don't need to worry about me." Pasiphae rolled her eyes and released his hand, folding her own in her lap.

"Well, thank you for your expert opinion on the healing arts. I am glad you feel so but I trust you shall not be offended if I clarify this for myself?"

"I _trust_ it doesn't matter either way if I do or don't." The queen frowned in response though she was quickly learning that Jason's sense of humour was a part of who he was and therefore was unlikely to change. Still though, she tapped him on the arm, much the same way one might tap an errant puppy on the nose.

"Indeed," she remarked, dryly.

"So when can I get up?" Jason pressed, shifting onto his elbows in an attempt to sit up properly. Pasiphae narrowed her eyes at his efforts.

"The king has informed you of this, Jason so there is little purpose in asking me to repeat it." She obliged anyway. "When the doctor and I have assessed your condition tomorrow morning, then we shall see if you are able to leave your bed."

"My legs work just fine. It was my arm that was bitten."

"A fact that has not escaped my attention." She opened her mouth to continue the argument but abruptly closed it again. She exhaled, briskly and glanced to the door of Jason's room, absently tapping her fingers against the bed beside her. Curiously, with a hint of apprehension, Jason followed her moves.

"I _need_ to get out of here," he pressed, sensing her thought-process. "I've got things to do and lying in this bed is driving me crazy. Please. I never did well just being still." He watched her raise one eyebrow in silent agreement with his assessment.

"We shall see. There is a small trunk that I have left by the door, Jason containing some items I would like your opinion on." She indicated the wooden box with a nod of her head then looked back to her son. "Bring it over here for me, please and we can at least discuss _those_ matters, since you are now awake. We shall address your immediate future afterwards."

Eagerly, Jason nodded, glad to have something to do. Now that he had her approval, he resumed his efforts to sit up properly and eased his legs over the edge of the bed. She was easier to persuade than he'd first assumed – a hell of a lot easier than Hercules or Pythagoras would have been at any rate. Before he could move away, his mother moved to the balcony doors to retrieve his discarded tunic which she had just spied by the window. She handed it to him in a silent command and with a smile and a small shake of his head Jason complied and slipped it on. Then, his mother watching with a casual air, Jason stood, quickly countering the immediate wobble in his legs from lack of use. He crossed the room and found the wooden box where his mother said it would be. It was long and relatively narrow but when Jason picked it up, he found it heavier than he expected. What did she want his opinion on? Statues to go in the entrance hall?

He was halfway back to the bed when he noticed the way his head was suddenly heavier to hold up than moments earlier. But it was his chest that began to concern him, just a little. Jason paused, head down as he breathed in, feeling a tightening in his chest and a distinct shortness of breath. He tried to take a deep breath, only to find that his lungs felt as though they were already filled. Jason felt sweat break out on his brow and he looked to the bed where his mother still sat, watching him. He gritted his teeth and scowled – he'd be damned before he didn't make it back. So, one foot in front of the other, Jason pushed through the tightness in his chest, the shortness of breath and the way his head swam until he felt the firmness of the bed-frame against his knees. With a quiet sigh of relief he released the wooden box that he had been gripping with white knuckles and let it drop onto the bed. He didn't notice his mother's hand on his arm, guiding him to sit but once he was off his feet, Jason's head flopped down to his chest as he tried to stop the world from spinning.

A hand gently titled his head back up and warm fingers rubbed light circles on his back. He felt his mother carefully pull back on his shoulders until he was leaning up against her. Too tired to complain, Jason closed his eyes. "In and out, Jason," Pasiphae quietly coached. "Breathe in deep…then release it. The air will come, I promise you." Sluggishly, Jason did as she said, realising only some time afterwards that she had been mimicking the movements along with him, allowing him to breathe alongside her. The queen's fingers rested lightly on his chest.

"Your heart is beating unevenly," she remarked casually. "Just lie back against me and be still until it steadies." Awash with sudden fatigue, Jason did not reply but dropped his head down against her shoulder. A moment later, he felt her fingers raking softly through his hair, intermittently brushing the damp curls from his forehead. He unconsciously nestled into her touch soaking up the security she offered.

Time passed and mother and son sat together on the bed, neither speaking. Eventually, Jason felt stronger or at least less drowsy and he lifted his head from his mother's shoulder, relieved when the room did not spin in response. He was breathing normally now though Jason couldn't recall when that had happened. When he started to move away from his mother's careful hold, he felt her reflexively shift until they were once again, facing each other. "That wasn't fair," Jason mumbled, eyes not able to meet hers for long.

"Mmm?" Her tone was deceptively light and innocent.

"I'd been in bed a while up till then. The first time up is always going to be tricky. But that's why I _need_ to get up as soon as possible – little steps, you know? Start training my body back up." If Jason could have seen the pale shade of his skin or the way his eyes had dulled or the way his tunic still hung from his shoulders like a sack, he would perhaps not have been so adamant. As it was, Pasiphae did not reply immediately. She looked at him appraisingly and it made her son squirm. And then, without a word of warning, she rose and went to the door and for a moment, Jason started. Was she leaving? Had he pushed too far? Offended her? Driven her away so that she washed her hands of his pigheadedness? He bit his bottom lip as he watched her go. _Why_ did he have to be like this?

Oblivious to her son's thoughts, Pasiphae opened the door and stepped outside. Jason's stomach clenched, painfully. He could hear her low, sharp voice conversing with the servant whose job it now was to wait outside his room, during his convalescence. Despite his fear that she was leaving him, Jason found himself surprised to hear the hardness and the aloofness in her voice once more as she spoke to the serving girl. He'd forgotten that was his mother's voice, it had been so long since he'd heard it. A startling notion crept into his head: perhaps that was the _queen's_ voice and his mother had a different one just for him?

Jarring him out of his thoughts, his mother suddenly stepped back into the room and closed the door. Jason tried not to show his relief. She walked back to his bed and pulled up a chair from his table, seating herself next to him. Then she tapped the pillows at the head of his bed and looked at him, meaningfully. With a heavy sigh and a roll of his eyes, Jason reluctantly obeyed the unspoken command and shuffled until he was sitting back against the wall, pillows behind him and his legs stretched out on the bed. He wouldn't lie down though, Jason decided, firmly. Pasiphae made no comment on this. Instead, she promptly placed the box on the floor and then rearranged the bedcovers until they covered his legs, tucking them in around his waist. Jason frowned as he felt the material encase him, trapping him to the bed. Pasiphae fussed for a moment with the box on the floor and with a discreet hand tucked behind one leg, Jason began to inch the blanket closer and closer towards him, gradually freeing his feet from the shroud.

A sharp smack to the back of his hand however, brought him up short and he looked up to see Pasiphae glaring at him. With a guilty glance down to the bed, Jason ceased his efforts and allowed his mother to tug the blanket back into place. "Now then," she announced, briskly, "Your shortness of breath and the dizziness that you tried to conceal are both the lingering effects of the venom. And yes, of course they will pass and you will regain your strength. This will _not_ happen through exercise but through bed-rest and, if necessary another tonic." Jason scowled, heavily. His mother pretended not to notice. "However, you are right in that you must build your body back up." Her eyes fixed on him, almost accusingly. "When did you last eat? I have spoken to the kitchens and your dinner tray was returned last night, un-touched."

Jason felt his face flush and his pulse quicken. His fingers immediately began to twist into the sheets by his side. Licking his dry lips, he answered, "I wasn't feeling too well last night – I didn't feel like eating." Jason kept his gaze down on the blankets and Pasiphae took a moment to consider his answer. Even if he had not been feeling the effects of the bite, he may well have been too anxious to have eaten. She should have checked on him earlier. The queen nodded.

"I can understand that. But that does not answer my question. _When_ did you last eat?" Jason shrugged, helplessly.

"Breakfast. Yesterday. Or maybe lunch?"

Pasiphae shook her head. "You were travelling during lunch and you left shortly after speaking with me, to go into the city for your work."

Jason felt annoyance quickly rise in him at the continued interrogation. "I got something to eat in the city, alright?" he insisted, his voice growing sharper. "It's a crazy concept but they _do_ sell food to members of the public."

Pasiphae's countenance immediately darkened and one hand briefly gripped his chin. Jason couldn't help but look at her as she quietly smouldered. The queen was back. No – not the _queen_ exactly but the more dangerous face of his mother. The one that occasionally had people killed. "Perhaps you and I," she said quietly, "need to better understand each other?" Jason shook his head.

"I'm sorry," he apologised, genuinely surprised at how easily he had lost his temper. "I don't know why I snapped like that. I suppose, maybe I'm not quite feeling myself yet." He felt her stare. "I'm sorry," he repeated. Fortunately, Jason felt the mood begin to lighten though a little hardness remained in the set of her mouth.

"No matter," she dismissed. "Whenever it last was, it is clear your body needs more." Jason immediately felt his face flush as his eyes widened in surprise. His body was _his_ business – certainly not his _mother's_. That she had obviously been prying while he had been sleeping, leaping to the wrong conclusions, made his blood start to boil. Once more, Jason was surprised by the sudden surge of hostility that he felt towards Pasiphae. But Jason had no desire to begin a fight between them and certainly not when he needed her on-side. So, trying very hard to keep the resentment out of his eyes, he nodded as casually as possible. At that moment there was a knock at his door and despite it being _his_ room, it was still Pasiphae who called out the answer. When the door opened, the girl returned, a tray of food in her arms and seeing this, Jason tried not to grimace. He had been fed the most foul-tasting tonics over the last day and he still stank of garlic, mustard and God-knows what else. The very last thing he wanted to do now was do anything else that might turn his stomach. It was starting to feel like he'd gone a round on a roller-coaster as it was.

But Pasiphae placed the tray of soup, breads and fruit onto his lap and silently held out the spoon to him. It was some kind of _fish_ soup, Jason surmised: fish and garlic. As if he wasn't _already_ starting to smell like Hercules! Jason closed his eyes as the smell made his insides churn, the memory of retching his guts up last night still painfully fresh for him. Still, he needed to appear compliant if she was going to give him some space over the coming hours. If she suspected he was being difficult, Jason was certain she'd have him watched like a hawk to make sure he complied with her instructions. Hell, he wouldn't put it past her to have a guard placed outside his door. _And_ one in his room. So, attempting an ingratiating smile for her, Jason took the spoon and began to eat. The more he ate, frustratingly, the more food seemed to appear on his tray but his mother sat and watched him, carefully.

Finally, it appeared she was happy that Jason was doing as he was told. She patted his leg and Jason immediately put down the spoon. Raising an eyebrow, she nearly smirked. "That was not a signal to stop, Jason." She watched him quickly flush and resume his meal. "But I shall leave you now. I must see to the needs of our guests and that your step-father is not is not tearing out what little of his hair remains." Pasiphae glanced down to the box and picked it up and Jason paused again.

"What's _in_ there?" he wondered curiously. "You said you wanted my opinion on something?" Pasiphae looked thoughtful, hesitating a moment as she regarded him carefully. Jason could see his mother weighing something up in her mind.

"It can wait," she announced with firm resolve, moving the box away from his suddenly roaming fingers. "You have more important matters to attend to at the moment." Now Jason's interest was _really_ piqued. There was no surer way to gain his attention than to dangle a mystery in-front of him and then take it away again before he knew what it was. His disappointment and his opposition were evident in his wide, imploring eyes and the slight downward turn of each side of his mouth. But before he could add his voice to his facial expressions, Pasiphae had already risen, taking the box well out of his reach. "_No_," she reiterated as she smiled at his annoyance. "Now finish your meal. I shall send the girl back for the tray within the hour and I _do not_ expect there to be anything left on it besides empty bowls and plates." Meekly, Jason nodded, eyes down at the meal in question. Then Pasiphae ran a hand across his face, feeling her son smile against her palm. "Rest well, Jason. Who knows? If you gather your strength now and eat well, you may yet be declared fit enough to join us for the Games after breakfast."

When Pasiphae had left, Jason sat back against the pillows and sighed, pushing the tray away from him. His mother meant well – she really did and he had never imagined in a million years that he would have a mother to fuss over him like this. Especially a woman as formidable as _Pasiphae_. It was…_nice_. It was just incredibly bad timing. Breakfast tomorrow would be too late. Pythagoras would be waiting at dawn and Jason knew that guards would patrol the borders of the city that morning as part of the added security for the Games. He gave a short, bitter laugh. With so many strangers and visitors to the city, that had partly come from his _own_ suggestion. But, of one thing Jason was now certain, neither Minos nor Pasiphae would let him go when he most needed to and though he hated to betray his mother's trust, Jason couldn't see a way around it.

* * *

The fallen oak giant, on which Pythagoras now climbed, had come down in the Great Storm, many years ago now. He had been a child but he remembered the howling winds, the shaking walls and the way his mother had kept him and his brother huddled together in the same room, for comfort. It had once towered into the sky – some said, straight to the Gods – but now it spanned the earth, its leafless boughs on the ground and its wide trunk rising gradually into the air, supported by the tangle of thick roots and earth that had been dragged up with it and had now become the habitat of fauna and creatures of its own. It was also a remarkably useful device for a look-out post.

From mid-way up the trunk, the young blonde looked down to where Myrtle waited, her cloak drawn up over her head. The day was dawning and the night's dark blues had given way to pale greys and the promise of colour. "Almost there," he called down to her and could just about make out her nod, imagining he could see the encouraging smile that no-doubt accompanied it. Travelling without his friends had marginally concerned Pythagoras at first, but the longer he and Myrtle travelled and the longer they passed through the forest without incident, the more confidence he gained. Take this climb, for instance. If his friends had been watching (assuming Hercules would not have wrestled him off the tree the moment he had announced his intention to climb it, promptly sending _Jason_ up the tree instead) they would have been cringing with every shaky step he took, waiting for him to slip and fall. And he would have by now. _Spectacularly_ and probably getting himself hooked onto one of the branches as he descended. But as only Myrtle watched him, without any presupposition that he would fall, he did not.

Reaching the summit, Pythagoras stared out at the approaching edge of the forest, the sleeping city of Atlantis about to wake beneath them. There was no sign of Jason yet but Pythagoras knew he would be there. This was the path that Jason routinely took to and from the silver mines and he would expect Pythagoras to make the same journey. He would be there – he had promised and Pythagoras had never known Jason to break a promise. Well, except the one about killing his mother but all things considered, that was probably for the best. Turning, he climbed back down the tree, jumping the last foot.

"I can't see Jason yet but I know he'll be here." Pythagoras looked kindly at his charge. "Do you need to rest before we go on?" They had been travelling most of the night, stopping at fairly regular intervals for rest and refreshment. Considering she had not had much time to prepare for her journey and had left the colony with some secrecy so that Aeson had not seen her, Pythagoras was quietly amazed at how much food and drink and other necessities she had managed to gather. Most of which she had persistently thrust upon _him_ as if he would not have made it another _mile_ unless she had plied him with another hunk of bread and wedge of cheese. He was honestly beginning to feel uncomfortably full, despite his travelling.

Myrtle chuckled softly and shook her head. "My young friend, I am not so old yet that I cannot walk to the forest's edge when it is almost under our noses."

Pythagoras smiled, bashfully. "Sorry."

"And _do_ stop apologising so often. You have nothing to be sorry _for_."

"_Sorry_. I mean…yes. Sorry." He winced and then sighed as the old woman laughed more openly now, her eyes twinkling. Eventually, Pythagoras began to laugh, too. "Old habits," he remarked, wryly. Then he held out one arm to her. "Well then, shall we?"

They walked together the last half a mile, Pythagoras gently supporting Myrtle along the path, talking idle talk and as they walked, the sun began to rise. When they arrived at the rendezvous point where the border of trees separated the forest from the gentle grassy hill that led down to the meadows surrounding the city, dawn had blossomed, warm and red. Pythagoras drew them to a halt and peered out through the tree-line. Being slightly higher than the surrounding terrain afforded him a small advantage but looking down the grassy slope, his forehead creased into a worried frown: Jason was not to be seen. He was neither climbing the hill nor approaching through the meadow. Trying not to appear too concerned, Pythagoras turned back to his companion.

"He's not here." He watched as the woman just nodded, patiently. "But I'm sure he won't be long. Jason doesn't let people down."

"I know. Do not worry, lad." She patted his arm, comfortingly.

This is _ridiculous_, Pythagoras thought: she's meant to be under _my_ protection and _she's _the one comforting _me_! A sudden sound from the hill top made him freeze. A shuffling on the grass, leaves disturbed, bracken crunching. He held his breath, his fingers automatically feeling the handle of the sword under his cloak that he had just remembered to bring before leaving the house. It could have been an animal. Moments later, the unmistakable sound of human footsteps became clear. Not only clear, but louder as they approached nearer and nearer to where they huddled by the trees. Could it be Jason? Pythagoras couldn't be certain. Silently, he turned to Myrtle, a finger held to his lips. His expressive eyes told of the need for caution, but not panic. Gesturing deeper into the forest, Myrtle understood his meaning and nodded. She made sure her cloak covered her deformity and quietly drew back until she stood, half hidden behind a tree, head bowed and trying to look as inconspicuous as possible.

The footsteps drew steadily nearer until they stopped, right beside Pythagoras' position. There was very little chance that he had not been seen and so, with a deep breath and a quick prayer to the Gods, Pythagoras looked out and hoped to see Jason. It wasn't Jason. An Atlantian guard, in full armour and impressive weaponry stood, watching him with hard, suspicious eyes. Thoughts of his own sword quickly died away. Fighting highly trained palace guards was not a task he immediately took to unless he had no other option. But there was still a chance that a clever mind could get them both out of this.

"You there!" The guard was short on words but, Pythagoras assumed, when you were long on swords, it didn't matter. Putting on his best, least wobbly smile, Pythagoras stepped from the trees, onto the hill.

"Ah, hello," he greeted with an air of casual joviality. "Lovely morning, isn't it?" The guard narrowed his eyes, ignoring the greeting. Instead he took a step closer until he was nearly chest to chest with Pythagoras, causing the young man to retreat a couple of steps back into the forest. Silently, Pythagoras cursed. He had been very much hoping that by stepping _out_ of the forest, he might lead the guard _with_ him and _away_ from Myrtle. But it was not to be.

"What are you doing out here?" The guard examined him closely, no doubt seeing the beads of sweat appear on the mathematician's brow. The man's keen eyes roamed the forest – he appeared to have been _bred_ on suspicion. Suddenly, his gaze stopped and his face hardened. He pointed to the cloaked figure that was currently half hidden behind one of the trees.

"You!" he barked. "Come out here. Why are you hiding?"

"Hiding?" Pythagoras quickly exclaimed with a laugh, waving off the guard's concern. "We are not hiding. My companion and I are really just passing through and we shall be on our way and out of your hair without delay if you would just be so kind as to let us pass?" He took a step backwards but stopped abruptly with a startled yelp as a sword was immediately held at his throat.

"Ah yes," he laughed, desperately, trying to back away from the blade. "A sword." He swallowed as the guard's eyes darted dangerously between Pythagoras and his companion. "And a very fine sword. Tell me, do you spend a lot of time polishing it?" Even as he said it, Pythagoras winced. The man growled at the back of his throat. "That is to say…" The lad gave a tiny gulp, finishing in barely a whisper, "it's very shiny." Inwardly, the young man cringed: _Yes, Pythagoras – thank the Gods your quick and clever mind was here to get you both out of this._

The guard had apparently been born without a sociable bone in his body. Still alternating his gaze between the pair of them, he raised his sword a little higher. "What brings you and your companion out so early to this place?"

Pythagoras thought in a panic, desperate that he should not engage Myrtle directly. But the more the guard stared at her, the less likely that seemed to be. "We were gathering…mushrooms," he quickly announced. "For breakfast. And flowers." He swallowed. "For the table. Not to eat. That would be silly. Unless, you were an animal of some kind. You see, some animals will eat only plants, while some eat only meat and others, like us, can eat both. It depends what kind of teeth you have. Do you like mushrooms? Or flowers?" He tried to smile again but there was no concealing the panic on his face.

The sword still trained at him, the guard stepped around Pythagoras, one look telling him to stay where he was. He moved steadily towards the cloaked and hooded figure and as he moved closer to her, the sword gradually moved further and further away from Pythagoras' chest. With a cold wash of dread, Pythagoras saw he was going for her hood. If he removed her hood, Myrtle would be exposed as a leper for certain – there was no disguising the nature of her affliction.

"You," the man growled. "Remove your hood and step forward. Your skinny companion talks a lot but I still don't know who you are." His hackles were only raised further when his quarry turned to face him and with the tip of his sword, the man reached out and hooked the blade beneath the edge of the hood. If she moved suddenly now, he would slice a rent through her forehead. From behind the guard, Pythagoras held his breath, closed his eyes for a moment, and with shaking hands, drew his sword. Myrtle was in his charge and whatever happened, however the guard reacted – whether it was with violence or simply to arrest them – Pythagoras had sworn to protect her. No matter what the cost.

And so, as the guard's sword raised higher, so did Pythagoras', aimed straight at the man's back. At last the hood fell back to the neck and with a sinking heart and a sickening feeling in his bones, Pythagoras heard the man's startled gasp.

* * *

Right – that's it for now but Chapter 12 is already underway. I really hope you've enjoyed the read so far.


	12. Chapter 12

Standard disclaimer still applies: I don't own them.

A huge thank you to everyone who is still enjoying this story – I'm really glad and I really appreciate your feedback. Thanks also to my _Guests_, to _Ash_ and to _jmp_ – yes, Pasiphae's learning but she's still got quite a short fuse on her at times :-) And _Angel_ - nice to have you back :-) Yes, I imagine Pasiphae would find it _very_ difficult if Jason decided to go back to his old life. I'd like to keep the series going that far, but it depends if the interst is there.

Hopefully this story only has a few more chapters to go before I can put it to rest.

Chapter 12

The guard instantly lowered his sword and it took Pythagoras a few seconds to register the abrupt change in events, and quickly do the same, stowing it back under his cloak. His head spun as he tried to figure out what in the name of Hades was going on. One second they were about to be either attacked or hauled off to prison and the next, the guard had lowered his sword and jumped backwards, nearly bumping into Pythagoras, who quickly darted around him. It was almost as if something had bitten him. Perhaps the man had an overwhelming fear of lepers?

But when Pythagoras looked to Myrtle to gauge her reaction a wide, incredulous grin spread over his face. How in the blazes did he do it? Jason stood, wrapped in Myrtle's cloak, the rich colours of his tunic, visible beneath the folds. He caught Pythagoras' eye and winked at him, a silent communication to play along with whatever scheme he had in mind. Discretely, Pythagoras nodded, secretly enjoying the thrill of the game: he and Jason had always benefited from an uncanny knack of understanding each other. _Where_ Myrtle was, he wasn't sure but he trusted implicitly that she was safe.

The guard hesitantly bowed at the waist, one hand in the centre of his bronze cuirass. "My Lord," he mumbled. "Forgive me, I did not realise it was you." Despite himself and despite what logic must clearly dictate, Pythagoras started a little at the title his friend was addressed by. Jason spent so much of his time denying his heritage and the fact that this made him any different to the rest of them that it was quite unsettling to hear that status affirmed by someone else. He glanced to his friend's face, noting only a slight twitch of his eye. Whatever Jason's feelings were, he schooled his reaction carefully. It seemed most unlike his headstrong young friend, who tended to wear his heart on his sleeve.

The guard straightened up and risked a curious look at Jason. "If I may be so bold, why are you so far from the Palace, my Lord? Without the protection of the guards? The Queen would…"

"My _mother_, is of no concern of yours."

Instantly, the guard bowed his head. "Of course."

Jason watched him back away from those awkward questions, feeling his own pulse thumping. He was channelling as much of the various elements of Minos that he could remember seeing but sooner or later, his façade was going to slip and the guard, see right through him. Jason walked past the guard, motioning with a smile and a wave of his head, for Pythagoras to come with them as he led them out of the forest and onto the hillside. Pythagoras followed gratefully, immensely glad when the guard left the forest which was presumably, where Myrtle still concealed herself.

Turning back to the guard, Jason said: "I'm here for the same reason you are: the king has ordered that the city borders be fortified today and I'm making sure his orders are being carried out." The guard swallowed and straightened.

"I arrived at my post at dawn, just as I was ordered."

Smiling, Jason nodded. "I can see that…" he paused a moment. "Thracus, isn't it?" Jason had made it a point to learn the names of as many servants and guards as he could, since coming to the Palace. He hadn't been wholly successful but on _this_ occasion…The man started a little before hesitantly nodding.

"Yes, my Lord." He glanced hesitantly to Pythagoras, still unsure how this strange young man and his inane gibberish fitted in to the equation. But far be it for him to question the prince's acquaintances. "I apologise for the treatment of your friend but I could not understand his purpose." He stopped and tried not to look nervous. The young prince, for all intents and purposes, appeared to be a very laid-back, pleasant young man. Hardly like a _prince_ at all. But he was still _Queen_ _Pasiphae's_ son and who knew how much of his fearsome mother ran through his veins? An insult such as this may spell his execution.

Jason shook his head, placing one hand on Pythagoras' shoulder. "We were checking to see you were doing your job correctly. It would have defeated the object if he came out and _told_ you that."

Next to him, Pythagoras smiled. "No hard feelings."

Warily, the guard, Thracus, nodded.

"So," Jason suddenly announced. "As you can see, he's not a threat and unless Atlantis is suddenly declaring war on triangles, we have nothing to fear here." Ignoring the man's confused expression, Jason carried on: "But, there is _plenty_ of border still to patrol and this little section is now very, very safe." With a wide sweep of his arm, Jason indicated the rest of the tree-line and then gave Thracus a less-than-subtle toss of his head.

Still confused, but glad to quit the encounter, the guard nodded and bowed one last time before marching briskly along the forest to his next check point.

As soon as he was out of earshot, both Pythagoras and Jason let out a collective sigh of relief, each of them leaning one arm on the other for support.

"I thought we were dead!" Pythagoras exclaimed as Jason laughed.

"Would I let you down?"

The young genius raised an eyebrow. "Well, I was beginning to wonder." But Jason grinned and clapped him on the shoulder as they headed back into the forest.

"I'm really sorry I kept you waiting." A frown crossed his forehead and he paused, looking seriously at Pythagoras. "Honestly, I don't understand how Ariadne makes it look so easy! Sneaking out of the Palace is _not_ as straightforward as it seems."

At that, Pythagoras laughed, elbowing his friend lightly. "Did you get caught?"

"Ha! If I'd got caught I'd be hung out to dry by now. No, but it was bloody close. I had to duck into a cupboard at one point." Then he placed an arm around his friend's shoulders, leaning on him just a little heavier than he first intended to. "Thanks for bringing Myrtle. I know you were prepared to defend her. It means a lot." Bashfully, Pythagoras ducked his head. "Now come on," Jason continued. "Let's collect Myrtle and get out of here. The arena will start filling up with the workers soon and I want to get Myrtle into position before then."

As they walked, Pythagoras happened to notice the bandages wrapped around Jason's palms. With such an eventful start to their meeting, Pythagoras had failed to notice them earlier. He looked at the wrappings in concern. "What happened to your hands?" he asked. Jason looked across at him and rolled his eyes, with a faint groan.

"Don't ask. It's a long story. Involves a broken jug."

Though his curiosity was not yet satisfied, Pythagoras smiled. "And here I thought _I _was the clumsy one." Then he laughed, gently tapping Jason on the side. "It's funny – _I_ climb the tree and _you_ break the jug. Perhaps our Fates are switching around?"

Jason rolled his eyes again and pretended to scowl at his friend. "Yes, very funny. Come on, Your Nimbleness! Let's get a move on."

* * *

"Are you certain no-one will discover me in this place?" Myrtle had shown remarkable self-assurance and composure, first in her hasty departure from the colony, then in her journey through the forest, her unexpected substitution by the trees and lastly on the final journey with Jason to the stadium. Jason really couldn't blame her for her hesitant question now.

He smiled at her, placing a hand on her shoulder and with his other arm, indicating the stacks of crates and barrels, piled neatly against the stone walls of the underground passage-way. "No-one's due to come down here until this evening. The organisers have banned people from the lower tunnels during the Games themselves as it gets chaotic with everyone trying to access their goods. The merchants have what they need for today's sales – these supplies are for the rest of the week."

From his shoulder bag, Jason withdrew a warm blanket and handed it to Myrtle. "Here. It can get cold down here sometimes."

Myrtle took it but she did so with a smile, reaching in to her own bag of tricks and pulling out a substantially larger one that she had no doubt made herself. Jason laughed when he saw it. "Alright – you win."

She patted him on the arm. "This blanket is very thoughtful of you, Jason. Thank you. I shall take care of it before I return it to you." She hesitated and looked at Jason with such honest intensity that he found it difficult to look away from her. "Thank you for all that you have done, Jason. I can't tell you what this means to me." She gave a short laugh. "You know, when your step-brother first crept in to the colony, I wasn't sure what to make of his offer at first. Though I remember he moved very stealthily."

Jason raised a disbelieving eyebrow. "I'll tell him that – he'll be very glad to hear it. And I'm really glad you decided to trust him." Myrtle nodded then took a moment to look around her temporary lodgings. On seeing her perusal, Jason pointed to the large grate above their heads, in the roof of the tunnel. "We're right underneath the playing fields. You won't be able to see the arena events or the Swearing-In ceremony but you'll see the track events and I figured, since Philip was a runner…"

"Yes," she interrupted, her pale eyes gazing up to the grassy tracks visible through the iron grid. "Yes, thank you. You assumed correctly." For a moment, Jason saw the mixed emotions on her scarred face as she imagined the events that were soon to unfold – the roar of the crowd, the shouts of the spectators. There was hope – hope at finally seeing her son once more, and fear – fear of the same thing. But watching her obvious pride in a young man who, in essence, had deserted her, Jason couldn't help thinking of his own mother. She would have discovered him gone by now and if he stayed around at the Games, as he had to do, she was bound to see him eventually. Jason still had a role to fulfil at these events – he had still been tasked with making sure things ran smoothly and he intended to do this. More than that though, his parents would be worried if they couldn't find him. It would give them some peace of mind to see that he was here and that he was well. But on one thing, Jason was relying: Pasiphae would _hate_ to make a scene in front of the people of Atlantis – particularly, a domestic. No, she would wait until they were in the privacy of their own home for that. He hoped.

Shaking his head – this not being the time to dwell on unpleasant possibilities – Jason retuned his mind to the present. "The day's already started with the prayers and dedications to Zeus in the small temple opposite." Myrtle nodded, to show that she was listening though a part of her mind seemed far away. "Then there's going to be a short break while people take their seats and the Oaths ceremony will take place, in-front of the royal box in the stands. After that, it's going to be the running races and then the boys' race." He glanced about as he spoke, just double-checking that the area he was leaving his companion in, was as safe as he proclaimed it to be. There was always the cover of the crates and barrels if the worst should happen. "I'll come and find you after the running races, before the boy's event. It'll be easier to slip out of the worker's exit before the crowds start leaving."

He looked across to her, hesitantly. "Is that alright?"

"Perfectly."

"And you remember the way we came in? In case you need to get out?"

She nodded once more. "I shall be perfectly well here, Jason. I have somewhere to rest, blankets for comfort and warmth and plenty of food and drink. If I should need to, I am quite adept at making myself un-seen." The old woman gave him a sad, knowing look. She had spent half her life learning how to disappear. "Do not worry about me, lad, you have your job to do." For a moment, Myrtle stood, regarding her young companion silently. When she spoke again, her voice was quiet and heavy with regret and sadness. "I must confess Jason that I am not as selfless and as kind as you think me to be."

"What are you talking about?" Jason asked, patiently, sinking down onto one of the wooden crates. "You're one of the kindest people I've ever met." Myrtle came to sit down beside him with a weary sigh.

"Oh, I try to be Jason but lately that is not the case. I must confess that I have been selfish – very selfish." She watched Jason raise his eyebrows in silent confusion and took a deep breath. "I desire to see my son - my Phillip - so, _so_ much. It is a selfish need and I am ashamed to say that since meeting you in the forest, I have ignored what is plain to all in my desire to reach this place."

Jason shook his head in confusion. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"Yes you do, lad. I can see myself back to the colony – or perhaps Pythagoras may? But you _must_ go home and rest. My heart aches to see you this way. Whatever has struck you down, you must rest now. You have done what you promised you would. I cannot believe that _anyone_ let you out of the house when you looked like that! I can't _imagine_ what they were thinking and what _you_ were thinking, for that matter." Jason gave a shaky laugh, looking down at the hand that held his.

"Yes, they don't actually know I've gone." He heard Myrtle exhale, sharply and felt her concerned glare.

"If you weren't so sick, I would box your ears! _What_ your poor mother must be going through." The old woman shook her head and her expression held a rueful smile as she lightly squeezed his fingers. "I imagine you will be held to account when you return, hmm?" Jason sighed, miserably.

"More than you know," he muttered.

Myrtle patted his hand. "But only because they love you. Now child, you must _promise_ me." She gathered his hands into her hers. "Promise me you will look after yourself."

Jason looked into her worried, kind eyes and felt a pang of guilt for the stress he caused her. This was supposed to be a happy day for her – she didn't need him bringing her down. Smiling reassuringly, Jason gently slid his hands out from her grasp and ducked his head.

"Keep safe, Myrtle and enjoy the Games." Before she could utter further protests, Jason was already backing away, heading back to the entrance of the tunnels. "I'd better go and check the crowd's happy and that the sellers are all set up. I'll be back for you later." He turned and left, before her concerned expression made him feel any more wretched.

* * *

Pythagoras balanced on tip-toe, scanning the crowd above the tops of people's heads as they emerged from the temple. He was trying to locate Hercules who had faithfully promised him that they would meet outside the stadium before the Swearing-In ceremony and although Hercules' promises could be fickle at best, it was nearly time for the ceremony to begin and Pythagoras didn't want to find a seat inside without him. Being late, he had been standing right at the back of the crowd during what was left of the Dedication to Zeus so if Hercules had woken up in time to make it to the Service, the young mathematician really stood no chance of finding him there.

The crowd buzzed around him, old and young alike and the different accents and languages from the many visitors to the city, created an exciting hubbub – a bustling energy. The entertainers that Jason had arranged were proving a great success with the people as they milled about the specially set-up market stalls and waited to go in to the stadium itself. There were jugglers, poets, musicians, fire-eaters and acrobats who performed to the delight of the guests and for the coins that they threw. Pythagoras paused in his searching for a moment, to watch them. He grinned as he watched one limber man somersault backwards to a squeal of delight from some watching young girls, who giggled behind their hands until their parents moved them on. Jason could do that, he thought to himself – with far more skill, he'd wager.

_Jason_. Pythagoras' thoughts were suddenly jolted back to their present circumstances. The three of them had walked together a little way before Jason insisted that he and Myrtle go on alone for the last part of the journey. Pythagoras had let his friend go with great reluctance. In his excitement and utter relief to have first met Jason in the forest, fearing as he had been, for both Myrtle's life and his own, Pythagoras had failed to take note of his friend's appearance. But as the danger died down and they had walked side-by-side, Jason's condition became painfully obvious. His skin was pale and sweat beaded on his forehead, despite the breeze in the air and the relaxed pace at which they moved. The pace itself worried him – he and Myrtle had travelled faster when it was just the two of them and Pythagoras would never have imagined _Jason_ would slow them down. At first, he had thought his dark-haired friend was trying to be chivalrous – slow down his own speed in order to accommodate old Myrtle and the friend who had been travelling most of the night. But Myrtle was fitter than perhaps Jason realised and he himself was not so weary and so Pythagoras had tried to indicate this by increasing his speed.

However, it quickly became apparent from the heavy breathing and the pain on his face and the obvious fact that Jason began to lag behind that chivalry was not Jason's problem: he really _could not _keep up. Several times they had to stop to allow Jason to rest, although he always tried to disguise the reason with some excuse: he needed to check they were not being followed or to adjust the straps on his sandals, or Myrtle looked tired. He had hovered, worried and tense, over his friend's shoulders while Jason had sat on a rock, his head bowed and breathing deeply in and out. It was almost as if he could not get enough air into his lungs and Pythagoras could not see how this had occurred. Jason had never shown difficulty breathing before. Although, as he cast his mind back through recent months, Jason _did_ have a tendency to become light-headed after a run and that was unlike him, too.

Pythagoras sighed, bitterly. Jason must have been ill but whatever the cause, he was clearly unwilling to talk about it with him. Every time Pythagoras asked him how he was feeling, Jason shot him a death glare, indicating Myrtle with a subtle nod of his head. Absurdly, this made Pythagoras feel a little better. That his friend did not want to confide in _him_ was a little hurtful, but that he might want to keep it hidden from their companion, seemed more acceptable. As he had left Jason and Myrtle to continue their journey, Pythagoras watched his retreating back and determined that he _would_ get to the bottom of Jason's mysterious illness.

"There you are!" The loud, booming voice from right by his ear made him leap into the air like a shot. Hercules laughed heartily, clapping his young blonde friend on the back. "When I couldn't see you, I was worried I'd find you languishing in a dungeon somewhere after you agreed to Jason's hair-brained scheme." After taking a moment to carefully regain his dignity, Pythagoras turned to face his burly friend, a disapproving frown on his face.

"Yes, thank-you," he returned, a little primly. "As you can see, everything went well. Perhaps you should have a little more faith in me?"

Hercules smiled indulgently. "Oh, come on. Don't take offence. It's in my nature to worry about all the weak and helpless. Now," he announced, clapping his hands together and ignoring Pythagoras' tight-lipped glare, "I've seen a sumptuous little pie-stall on the corner there and if you've been travelling all night, you'll need some food in you. Come on, it's on me." He started to walk away, obviously expecting his friend to follow him.

Pythagoras groaned, causing Hercules to stop and look back at him. "I couldn't eat another thing." Lowering his voice, he leaned in closer to Hercules. "Myrtle's been feeding me almost without cessation since we left the compound. I'm feeling rather full."

With a fond smile, Hercules shook his head. "Ah, she sounds like a lovely lady. You could do a lot worse than a good cook, Pythagoras. And lepers – lovely people. I've always said so." Pythagoras rolled his eyes. Only Hercules would try and set him up with a woman, old enough to be his mother, just so that he could be kept in pies for the rest of his life. Not willing to dignify that with a response, Pythagoras shook his head.

"So your job guarding the wine barrels is finally over?" With a relieved groan, Hercules nodded.

"All safely delivered yesterday and I never touched a drop." The young genius raised a disbelieving eyebrow. "Honestly," Hercules proclaimed, hand on heart "I'm a changed man, Pythagoras – responsible, self-restrained." He watched, affronted, as his friend gave an incredulous snort.

"I do not think the world is prepared for such a phenomenon, my friend."

"Ah, now it is _you_ who underestimates _me_. I think I could do it, Pythagoras. Become a new man – a changed man. A wage-earner, responsible, sober…" He suddenly stopped short, his inspired expression starting to crumble. Heaving a weary sigh, he said: "By the Gods though, Pythagoras, it may have been good money but what I wouldn't give for a little excitement again!" His young friend grinned. "I'm serious," Hercules protested. "I know I blame Jason for all the trouble that lands on our doorstep but without him here, life's just too quiet. And you may _not_ tell him that!" he added, pointing a stern finger at him.

The mention of their mutual friend suddenly jogged Pythagoras' memory and his recent concerns. "Actually, Hercules, I was meaning to talk to you about Jason." A sudden flock of people pushed past them, nearly knocking the young man off his feet. Hercules shot out a hand to steady him.

"Oi!" the big man yelled to the small crowd. "Watch it!" Turning to Pythagoras he said, "We should probably take our seats. The ceremony's going to start soon." He began leading Pythagoras through the crowds of people, all swarming towards the gates that led in to the stadium. He kept a firm grip on the younger man's forearm, unwilling to lose his light-weight friend in the middle of the chaos. As he was dragged along behind his friend, Pythagoras tried to start again.

"It's about Jason," he tried to call but the swell of the crowd thickened and amplified, the closer they drew to the gates.

"What about Jason?" Hercules called back, elbowing a giant, bearded man out of the way before he could barrel straight in to Pythagoras. Honestly, did the mathematician have some kind of target painted on his back?

"Yes," came a cheerful voice from beside them. "What about Jason?" Quick as lightning, a hand shot out, grabbed the front of Hercules' leather jerkin and pulled him, along with the attached Pythagoras, into a nearby recess in the wall of the stadium. As soon as Hercules was steady on his feet once more, he straightened his clothes, looking over to their kidnapper. Jason grinned at him, impishly. "I've got you guys some good seats down near the front. I'll show you."

"Jason!" Hercules exclaimed, lightly clapping him on the shoulder. He frowned a little, noting the rather pale complexion but before he had a chance to comment, Jason cut in.

"Myrtle's all settled and I just about had time to find you before it all kicks off." He glanced across to Pythagoras, noting the careful way his friend was studying him and immediately felt a little nervous. Pythagoras once again opened his mouth to speak, but was interrupted by a sudden exclamation from Hercules.

"Ah," he gasped. "I never did get those pies!" He looked beseechingly at Jason. "We have time for pies, don't we? Before everything…what did you say? Kicks off?" Jason rolled his eyes and nodded.

"Be quick," he urged, half shoving him back into the crowd. "I've got to go and check everything's ready for the first races in a minute." Hercules was already deep in the throng of the crowd, pushing against the flow before Jason had even finished speaking. Laughing lightly, Jason shook his head. "Time and pastries wait for no man." A pointed clearing of the throat turned his attention back to Pythagoras who stood there, glaring at him with his arms folded across his chest. Sighing, Jason didn't bother to pretend any more. There was no point. Pythagoras had been chomping at the bit to say something from the moment they left the forest. Jason wouldn't have been at all surprised if he hadn't got it all figured out already.

"Go on then," he sighed, leaning back against the wall with a groan.

"You're sick and you shouldn't be here."

Jason gave a helpless shrug. "I had things I needed to do. What choice did I have?"

Pythagoras exhaled, loudly. He could throttle his stubborn friend sometimes, he really could. _How_ Jason was staying on his feet was beyond him. Any fool could see his exhaustion and the shortness of breath. Any fool, except perhaps Jason. "You could have stayed in bed. I would have managed."

His friend's keen disappointment made Jason sigh, heavily. For some reason, Pythagoras took his health very seriously and seemed almost personally offended when Jason ignored it. Honestly, Jason thought, it wasn't as if he took some kind of perverse pleasure in torturing himself. It was simply that circumstances didn't always allow him the luxury of resting. With sincere eyes, he told him: "I know you would have. But that's not the point. I made a promise and you shouldn't have _had_ to manage." He tried to ignore Pythagoras' growl of frustration. It was most unlike his placid friend.

Taking a deep breath, Pythagoras made a concerted effort to calm himself. "So what's happened? It looks like some kind of infection."

"Spider bite," Jason answered. "A couple of nights ago." Pythagoras widened his eyes.

"What kind of spider?"

His friend frowned. "I don't know the name of it. But Pasiphae said it had an orange and black back if that helps." He showed Pythagoras the impressive markings on his wrist and his friend took his arm gently in his hands, turning it slightly to get a better look. The young blonde let out a low whistle.

"I know it. Its poison is strong." He looked incredulously to Jason who grinned weakly in return.

"But not deadly. Hey, I'm not saying that I _ever_ want to go through that again – I actually think I _vomited_ in the Palace corridor - but it apparently takes a lot more than that to put me out of action. Relax – I'm fine now."

"You are _not_ fine!" Pythagoras hissed, casting a quick glance about them as they were beginning to get some strange looks from passers by. "You clearly have pain in your chest and your stamina has been severely depleted. The venom can have an affect on the heart. You musn't take this lightly, Jason. You should be in _bed_. _Resting_. With a tonic."

"Well, I'm not!" Jason exclaimed, starting to lose his temper. He'd had more than enough of people nagging him over the last couple of days. "What are you going to do? Tell my mother?"

Pythagoras crossed his arms and answered with a smirk: "Worse. I'll tell Hercules." He felt a moment of righteous satisfaction as Jason went wide-eyed in response.

"You wouldn't."

"Watch me." Jason's expression at once began wavering between entreating and a half-hearted attempt at intimidation as Pythagoras continued. "It's difficult to run around, ignoring your health, when you have the weight of a cart horse sitting on you. Or when he's thrown you over his shoulder and bodily carried you home. And you _know_ he'll do it."

Jason gave up on the intimidation – it didn't suit him anyway. Instead he gripped his friend imploringly around the shoulders. "Okay. I'll take a break. I'll let someone else check the track events are set up and find somewhere to lie down for a bit. Just _please_. It's been a really rotten couple of days. Just let me enjoy the Games before you set your hounds on me." The sound of familiar merry whistling was fast approaching and Jason cast one last, desperate look at his friend. At the last moment, just as Hercules rejoined them, Pythagoras scowled and sighed sharply, in frustration. Jason smiled in relief. He could always rely on his good friend to come through for him in the end.

"Right!" Hercules announced, eagerly. Half a pie was already eaten, large crumbs still caught in his shirt and in one hand two pies balanced precariously, one on top of the other. "Here you are. Get that down you." Pythagoras barely had time to react before Hercules tipped the top pie into his hands. He quickly thrust the second pie at Jason, making the boy hiss as the heat burned his fingers.

"What happened to your hands?" Hercules asked, suddenly noticing the bandages. Jason gave him a distracted look.

"Accident." Then he looked out at the thinning crowd. "Come on. I'll show you where to sit." And so, Jason led them out of the recess and into the stadium, Pythagoras glaring at his back as he went. Jason tried his best to ignore the reproachful stare though he could feel it boring in to the back of his head.

The crowd was loud when they entered the ground, the athletes already taking their places in the central sandy arena that would later be used for events such as wrestling, for taking their oaths. Jason quickly scanned the men, spotting Phillip in the middle row. Though customarily, athletes would compete naked, as married women had been allowed into the audience so that the whole of Atlantis might watch, the men wore short tunics in deference. Flights of stone steps led up into the stands, forming a wide semi-circle around the stadium. The royal gallery, draped in light silks of blue and gold stood at the front, accessed by an internal door. Jason quickly glanced up to see not only his own family, seated on their cushioned benches, fanned by waiting servants but the royal families of Athens and Crete, too. It looked like quite a tight fit. Minos was seated with Pasiphae on one side and King Pinytus of Crete on the other, his wife Allecto, next to Pasiphae. The two men occasionally leaned in to each other to share a remark to which one or the other of them would nod. It seemed his stepfather had a much easier relationship with Pinytus than he did Temenos, who sat in a raised second row with his own wife.

The princess Semele was next to her mother and Ariadne, next to her. She looked stunning, as always, wearing her finest dress and her diadem gleaming in her raven hair. Jason was momentarily surprised by how often Semele was speaking, gesturing to different parts of the stadium. She and Ariadne actually appeared to be conversing with interest whereas Jason had almost suspected the girl was a functioning mute. They all appeared quite happy and not at all anxious or upset which made Jason feel a little happier himself. He hated to think that he might spoil their enjoyment of the day. What would happen when they eventually spotted him, of course, was a bridge he would cross when he had to.

Rather than heading up the steps to the back rows, Jason walked his two friends along the stadium ground, close to the wall, until he came to a section just left of the centre. Here, he led them to a row mid-way up the first quartile, the sections marked out by wider walkways crossing the span of seating both horizontally and vertically. Two seats on the stone bench had been left empty, white chalk markings visible on them and comfortable-looking cushions laying on the ground beneath. "Here you go," Jason announced, cheerfully. "The cushions underneath are for you, too. I could have got you nearer the front but actually I've checked them out and you can see the track events better if you're just a little further back." The running track was placed just behind the arena. Hercules immediately grinned and started shuffling his way past the couple of people on the end of his row, muttering the occasional apology as he trod on a few feet. Pythagoras hung back a moment longer, looking around appreciatively at their fellow audience members. There was not a frayed edge or a tear to be seen in their richly coloured and beautifully embroidered clothing. Clearly, they were not sitting among the lowly periokoi. He looked to Jason, a hesitant question in his eyes.

"Oh it's _fine_," Jason assured him, sensing his worry. He leaned in closer and whispered, "Everyone here's trying to look more important than they are: you guys are worth ten of them." Then he winked and patted him on the shoulder. "Go on – you'd better take your seat. Mind that pie." Pythagoras nodded and then looked down to the pie in question that now sported a large thumb dent in the middle of its top-crust. Looking at Jason's hands, they were noticeably pie-free, leaving him to wonder at the speed and slight of hand that Jason must possess, to be able to discard it with neither he nor Hercules noticing.

"And what are _you_ going to do?" he pressed. Jason rolled his eyes.

"Find somewhere to rest," he answered. "Just like I promised." He was rewarded by his friend merely harrumphing quietly and then sidling past people to his seat, with just a little more delicacy than Hercules had managed. Once Pythagoras was seated, Hercules waved at Jason.

"I knew this gig of yours would one day prove fruitful." It was only then that Hercules seemed to realise there had only been two seats reserved. His brow furrowed. "You not watching?" Jason shook his head.

"I'll watch from the sides," he said. "But I've got some things to do. Maybe I'll see you after the races?" Then he gave them all a final wave. "See you later." As he turned and walked away, Hercules was already flagging down a passing food vendor, his pie having been finished some time ago and a new hole needing to be filled. Shaking his head in fond amusement, Jason left his friends to it and headed off in the general direction of the field. There was probably a quiet stretch of grass that he could sit down on, while looking over the track.

Back in the stands, Hercules handed over some coins for his bag of roasted nuts and sat back down with a contended sigh. The rich merchant to his left scowled for the third time in as many minutes. "Nut?" Hercules asked, offering him the bag. With a frown and a shake of his head, the merchant looked away. "Suit yourself." Then he turned to Pythagoras, noting the frown that creased _his_ forehead. "Honestly!" he exclaimed. "Anyone would think these are Funeral Games! Why is everyone around here so moody?" Giving his young friend his full attention, Hercules made Pythagoras look at him. When he did, the unhappiness and worry in those blue eyes became blindingly apparent. Immediately, Hercules felt himself grow cautious, his protectiveness emerging. "What is it?" he questioned in a low, suddenly serious voice. Pythagoras met his eyes a moment longer, a conflict warring in them before he sighed heavily and looked away.

"It's nothing."

"Nothing? Come on, tell me. What's the matter? Whatever it is, it's going to ruin your day if you don't get it off your chest."

Pythagoras looked wretchedly torn. "I can't. I promised Jason."

Immediately, Hercules' back stiffened and his countenance darkened. "Promised Jason _what_?" he demanded, leaning in to the young man's space. Now Pythagoras _knew_ he was doomed. There was not a chance that Hercules would let something go that involved his often absent young friend. He spent enough time worrying about the two of them when they were right under his nose: remove one of them out of sight and that worry only grew stronger. And so, with a reluctant sigh, Pythagoras began to explain.

* * *

The Swearing-In Ceremony was well under-way. Minos had given his speech, the crowd had cheered and applauded and about half the athletes had taken their solemn oaths to Zeus and Poseidon. Yet Hercules sat grim-faced, next to a nervous Pythagoras. The young man shifted and twitched. "I shouldn't have said anything," he mumbled to his knees. "I broke my word." Shaking his head, miserably, he continued. "What kind of friend breaks their word?"

"I'd have broken more than that if you'd held out on me about this much longer," Hercules growled though they both knew it was an empty threat. "I _knew_ they couldn't do it," he muttered angrily causing his companions to glare at him for the continual conversation. "I knew they'd let something like this happen. All those people, all those guards and doctors and servants and parents and no-one saw him getting sick."

"It was a spider bite…"

"It's been more than that for a long time!" Hercules interrupted, prompting an irritated glare and a _shush_ from the other spectators. Shooting them a contemptuously dark look of his own, Hercules continued: "He needs watching – he's always needed watching whether he likes it or not and _none of them_ up there in their mighty Palace are up for the job. I mean, how on Earth does anyone that sick manage to sneak out of a heavily-guarded Palace without anyone noticing?" He didn't wait for Pythagoras to answer. "Try to sneak out with a bag of gold and they'd be on you like a shot then because that _means_ something to the King and Queen. It's a joke, I tell you. They don't give a damn – none of them."

Pythagoras sighed, praying they could all weather out this storm, unscathed. He got the distinct impression that they were talking about a lot more than a spider bite and if he was honest with himself, he had always known this little meltdown was coming. He would have preferred of course, that it didn't happen in a very public place and on a very auspicious occasion. But such was life. Particularly _theirs_. "I'm sure that's not true," he argued gently.

If Hercules heard him, he paid him no attention. "As soon as he gets home, he's going straight to bed and he's not getting up again until you say he's fit. And I don't care if he goes past his _blessed_ three days!" The man started to rise out of his seat but was stopped by a firm hand on his arm. He looked in surprise, to Pythagoras.

"You are _not_ going to find him," the young man insisted firmly. "Not in the mood you're in. The last thing we need is for you to be arrested by the Palace guards for kidnapping the prince." Hercules scowled. "_Or _throttling him."

Sitting back down with a heavy flop, Hercules folded his arms across his chest and looked meaningfully at Pythagoras. "Fine!" he grumped. "_You_ go. You find him and tell him to wait outside the Stadium and then come find me." Sighing, Pythagoras shook his head, knowing this would not end well even as he rose to do as he was told. "And tell him," Hercules added, pointing a finger his way, "that if he knows what's good for him, he won't argue."

Not wishing to prolong the scene any longer, the mathematician nodded and sidled out of his seat, apologising to the other spectators as he passed in front of them. Once out of earshot of Hercules though, he muttered, sarcastically to himself: "Yes, because Jason _clearly_ knows what's good for him."

* * *

Not knowing where to look for Jason, Pythagoras wandered helplessly around the stadium for a while until eventually he found himself outside it, where the market-stall holders had set up their mini-agora. Looking around, he saw that most of the stalls were covered over and un-manned, their owners watching the Games as only a very few spectators milled about. The occasional young slave boy had been left to supervise the stalls but, Pythagoras noted, they had all gathered together on the dusty ground to play a game of knucklebones. He couldn't really blame them – it surely wasn't fun to be the ones left outside when the rest of the city seemed to be inside.

With mounting irritation, it became apparent that Jason wasn't there, either. This was ridiculous – there were thousands of people there and Jason could be anywhere. But what had Jason mentioned before? Something about the running track? It would be a little conspicuous of him to go traipsing across the stadium ground itself, Pythagoras worried. But perhaps if he stuck to the perimeter, no-one would question his presence? Ugh! The morning was wearing on and the night was catching up with him and the young man suddenly felt awash with exhaustion. He was standing behind one of the unmanned vendor carts and, since the only possible guardians of said cart were currently a fair way off and playing their game, Pythagoras risked leaning against it, his head bowed wearily. What he wouldn't give for a good night's sleep in his own bed. He didn't regret going to fetch Myrtle – not one bit, but when they had successfully put Jason to bed, he was very much looking forward to collapsing in his own and sleeping a good long sleep. Looking down as he was, it was then that he happened to notice that his sandal strap had come loose. Kneeling down behind the cart, numb fingers awkwardly fumbling with the straps, Pythagoras began to re-strap them.

Harsh, urgent voices from right in-front of him suddenly caused Pythagoras' heart to leap into his mouth. For some reason, perhaps not wanting to startle the owners of the voices by jumping right out in front of them, Pythagoras stayed crouched down and waited for the men to move on. They spoke in foreign accents in a language Pythagoras was not fluent in but recognised a few words. He couldn't quite place it immediately. The men, however, did not move on and Pythagoras cursed his bad luck. It had been so long that he really couldn't stand up now – it would appear as if he had been spying on them. So, with a very quiet sigh, he waited and, being unable to avoid it, listened in snatches to their conversation.

Now, it was funny. Pythagoras had always found that people generally divided into two groups when they heard people speaking in foreign languages without the benefit of understanding the words themselves: the first group of people tended to feel relaxed, hearing in the strange words happy and carefree conversation. The second group of people felt tense around these strange conversations, hearing only suspicious, angry voices. Pythagoras had always been firmly part of the _first_ group, enjoying the charm and the mystery of the unfamiliar. But right at that moment, he became a part of the _second_.

A feeling of apprehension took a hold of his insides as the men talked, their voices sounding somehow dark, cold and angry. Very quietly, Pythagoras slid down onto his stomach and peered under the cart. He could see brown leather walking boots of one man, trousers of red cloth showing from the tops of them and the hem of a long blue robe. The other man was behind him and Pythagoras couldn't see him. The man in the brown boots seemed to be giving some kind of instruction to his companion. They laughed together but it made Pythagoras' flesh crawl: it was not a pleasant laugh. Not at all. Where did he know that language from? He screwed his face up in concentration. _Think, damn it, think!_ he commanded himself.

_Persian_! He nearly snapped his fingers in recognition, halting the triumphant movement just in time though he shuffled a little on the ground. At the sound of his quiet rustling, the men paused their conversation. Pythagoras froze. He held his breath as he heard the scraping of the boots pivoting on the ground as the men looked around themselves. His heart hammered in his chest as the air crackled with suspicion. He _had_ his sword but he rather feared he was lying on top of it and it would be quite useless if he had to draw it quickly. However, after a moment longer, the voices resumed speaking and Pythagoras let out a quiet, shaky breath. Then his mind began to turn. What were men from _Persia_ doing at _their_ Games? Perhaps they were merchants but what did merchants have to discuss so secretively and with so much venom? He hated to think of himself as prejudiced but in this case, very little good _ever_ came between Persians and Greeks.

Abruptly, the men ended their conversation and parted ways, from the sounds of their footsteps, one going one way and one the other. As they moved further away, Pythagoras peered closely at their forms. The booted man was heading back into the stadium, the flash of his scimitar showing beneath the folds of his robes. He waited until he was sure both men must be long gone and then the young man scrambled back to his feet. Now what was all that about? Something about it had set every nerve tingling. Desperately, Pythagoras latched on to the few words he had been able to distinguish and he played them round in his mind, seeking a translation from his dusty memory. Darn it! Why had he not paid more attention to languages, rather than constantly obsessing about his triangles?

What had he heard? Food? Fish? _I'm hanging around Hercules too long_, he thought to himself with a fond smile. _Now_ _I'm the one thinking with my stomach. Must have been the pies_. The thought of that pie made Pythagoras look down to his fingers and rub the tips of them, lightly from where the searing heat had burned them.

_Fire_. The word came to him in a flash and Pythagoras gasped, wide-eyed. That was what he'd heard, again and again. Perhaps the men were cooks? Perhaps they were just discussing if they have left the oven burning? Perhaps they were merchants and there had been a fire in one of their storehouses? It was entirely possible. Pythagoras' eyes were distant as he worried his bottom lip. Yes, there were a thousand innocent reasons for an urgent discussion about fire. But none of them felt right.

_Hercules_, Pythagoras decided firmly. He must go back to Hercules and tell him what he feared, even if he didn't yet know what that was.

* * *

That's the lot for now. Thanks for reading this far – I hope you enjoyed it.


	13. Chapter 13

The Road Ahead

Standard disclaimer applies – I don't own any of them.

A/N – So a huge apology is due for making people wait so long for the next update. I'm sorry but all I can offer is that this story has never been out of my mind – it's just been very hard to write lately. But I have been doing little bits of it over the last few weeks, trying to get the momentum back. And your lovely reviews have *really* helped to rekindle my drive for the chapter. So thank you SO much. _Lin_ and _Angel_ (well, I would imagine Pasiphae has figured it out when she went to check on him after breakfast and found he wasn't there! And no, I can't imagine she was pleased), _Ash_, _JMP_ (yup - Pythagoras was fighting a losing battle but you can bet your bottom dollar he would have kept on fighting, bless him!) and _Sue_ – thank you for your comments and gentle nagging :-) . Also, I'd like to say a huge thank you to _Charmed and Beautiful_ - your comments really made me smile and I'm so glad you don't mind the rather slow pace! I do love his relationship with Pasiphae and Minos so it's something I'd like to explore in more detail as the stories go on (if I make it that far!)I hope people enjoy the chapter. I'm thinking there should only be about one more after this one and then the story will be done.

Chapter 13

The last of the bronzed athletes smartly marched out of the arena, all having sworn their solemn oaths. Cheating was never advisable as one of the penalties often employed was the forced payment for a rather large bronze statue of either Zeus, Hera or Poseidon. It cost a pretty penny and hit the athlete right in the money pouch. The field events were about to start and those who were not competing that day had either filed in to a specially reserved seating area in the stands or else into rooms within the stadium where they might take some refreshment or have a massage. Hercules had listened to the athletes identify themselves as they were sworn in and was impressed by how far they had come, across the lands of Greece: Thessaly, Crete, Argos, Sparta, to name but a few. Atlantis was clearly a city of reputation and its citizens were feeling the pride, even Hercules, despite his dark mood.

The wrestler looked across to the empty space beside him. Pythagoras had been gone a while. He huffed, irritably. How long did it take to track one person down? Surely he couldn't have gone far? As soon as he got that boy home, they were going to have a long talk about responsibility and what constituted _his_ problem as opposed to somebody _else's_: a concept Jason often found hard to grasp but one which Hercules had mastered at an impressively early age. Hercules was tempted to go and look for Jason himself, but then knowing his luck, he'd lose Pythagoras instead. A band of musicians paraded up and down the steps and the walkways as the change-over before the running races took place. People turned and watched, some applauding, some throwing the odd denari. When they paused expectantly by Hercules, the big man simply glowered at them until they hastily moved on. He was not in the mood for their caterwauling today. Instead, as he waited for Pythagoras to return, Hercules blocked out the crowd around him and turned his mind to imagining the various conversations he was going to have with Jason, after the lad had had a good, long rest. He was fairly certain Jason wasn't going to enjoy any of them.

Finally, he looked up from his thoughts when he heard the familiar apologies of Pythagoras, coming down the row and then moments later, felt his shadow fall over him. At last! "Right then!" Hercules exclaimed, immediately standing up. "Is he waiting by the gates?" Pythagoras' face seemed rather more pale and drawn than it had been when he'd set off and his eyes were regarding him intently. Hercules immediately felt his concern increase: surely Pythagoras wasn't coming down with something, too? He'd been fine a moment ago.

"I haven't found him," Pythagoras explained, standing rather awkwardly in the narrow space in-front of his seat. "But I need to talk to you about something else." He tottered backwards, bumping in to the tall man seated in the row in-front and quickly apologised again and straightened up.

Raising a rather impatient eyebrow, Hercules shrugged. "_Well_?" he demanded. Rather than answering him, Pythagoras glanced about nervously and then back at Hercules. He leaned in a little closer.

"Not here," he whispered. Hercules rolled his eyes and sighed. These boys were going to be the death of him one day. But there was no point staying in his seat any longer: they may as well _both_ go and look for Jason. An irritated sigh sounded from behind them and Hercules turned to look at one of their fellow spectators, a young man bedecked in a long red robe. "Would you mind taking your seat?" The man asked, imperiously.

"Oh pipe down!" Hercules exclaimed. "Nothing's happening yet anyway. Come on. Pythagoras." And with that, he propelled Pythagoras back to the end of the row, barrelling his way after him. Once out, Pythagoras immediately turned to his friend and as they walked back towards the entrance, he recounted his rather strange experience. Hercules listened, first with irritation, then disbelief but gradually, with growing concern. "What did you say this man was wearing again?"

Pythagoras narrowed his eyes in thought. "Well, I could only see his legs and feet, but I saw brown boots, red trousers and a blue robe." He paused, watching the way Hercules' brow furrowed. "Why do you ask?" For a moment longer, Hercules' expression appeared distant.

"That sounds like the merchant I was working for," he answered, slowly.

Pythagoras raised his eyebrows, curiously. "Was he Persian?"

Hesitantly, Hercules nodded. "I _was_ a bit curious but a job's a job and he seemed legitimate. I mean, the Gods know we've had problems with Persians in the past but this was _wine_, Pythagoras. Who in their right minds would mess with _wine_?" His burly friend's face bore a look of such confused distress that Pythagoras placed a comforting hand on his shoulder.

"Things may not be as bad as you fear, my friend. We may be speaking of completely different men. Let us go to your former employer's market stall and see for ourselves." Hercules sighed and nodded his agreement.

"It's this way," Hercules informed him, "I spotted it when we came in." Together, the two men made their way through to the small market area, still largely deserted. The slave-boys had apparently finished their game and now milled about behind their respective stalls, passing the time with idle chatter and the occasional rude joke, delivered across the temporary agora, in a sort of fumbling, delighted crudity. "Here it is," Hercules announced as they came to a richly decorated stall, draped in silks, standing against the stadium walls and covered from the heat of the day by a colourful awning. The heady notes of sweet, strong frankincense was still wafting from hanging bronze burners, attached to the poles of the awning. Covered jugs of wine sat behind the stall on small tables and large, sealed barrels stood next to them. No-one had been left to guard this stall though, Pythagoras supposed, its goods were tucked away behind the heavy oak table and not in the paths of light-fingered opportunists.

Peering over the table, Hercules examined the barrels. A frown crossed his face and, as Pythagoras watched wide-eyed, Hercules pulled the heavy table out of the way and slid behind it to examine the barrels more closely. "Hercules!" Pythagoras whispered, glancing about them. "You can't go back there." But his older friend paid no attention to his companion's unwavering sense of propriety. He ran his hands across the wood of the casks, turning them to better see the markings upon them, the grain of the wood. Cautiously, he lifted the seal of one and sniffed at the wine within it.

Pythagoras watched with building anticipation, glancing about to see if anyone approached. No-one did and the boys remained determinedly oblivious to all but their own amusement. If their masters ever caught them in such idleness, Pythagoras worried, they would be beaten for sure. A sudden roar rose up from within the arena, making the young man momentarily tense. But it was not a frightened or angry uproar. No, it was the excited surge of the crowd. No doubt the running races had begun. For a second, Pythagoras thought of old Myrtle and imagined how she must be feeling right now, watching her son compete.

"These are not the same barrels that I have been guarding."

Hercules' resolute announcement startled the mathematician for the second time in as many minutes and he silently cursed his frazzled, sleep-deprived nerves. Composing himself, Pythagoras turned to his friend's stony expression. "Are you sure?"

Hercules rolled his eyes. "I should think so!" he retorted. "I've spent the last two weeks _drooling_ over those cursed barrels – I have memorised every grain of wood, every blemish, every curve. _Trust me_ – I would know those barrels anywhere and I have _never_ seen these ones before."

Pythagoras took a deep breath, marshalling his thoughts. "So they are not the same. That doesn't necessarily mean anything in itself. Though," he added, "it is strange. What has happened to the originals? And if we are wrong, we should tell someone of our suspicions."

Hercules, however, shook his head. "You go round shouting about Persians and fire and death and you're going to cause a panic. We need to do a little investigating first. Quietly. Discretely."

"Jason," Pythagoras said, though his heart sank at the idea of involving his friend in anything other than trundling him off to a warm bed with a healing tonic. But Jason knew every inch of this stadium and was in a position to summon aid and alert the guards without arousing suspicion. Hercules, it appeared, agreed with his judgment. His burly friend nodded his concurrence.

"But just to guide us!" he insisted. "He's not to go somersaulting, vaulting over people or doing those funny kicks he sometimes does." The man's face sunk into a dark, purposeful scowl, his fingers twitching by his sides. "I swear I'll hog-tie him and hang him from a flag-pole if I have to." Despite himself, the young genius smiled slightly at the resulting image and at his protective companion's grumpy ire. He placed a hand on Hercules' broad shoulder.

"I very much doubt you've anything to worry about in that respect, Hercules. If Jason does any somersaulting it will be because he trips over his own feet whilst stumbling along." He watched his friend's bushy eyebrow raise.

"Have the Gods swapped your Fates for a day or something?" Pythagoras merely gave a baffled shrug by way of answer. Who knew _what_ was going on lately? But Hercules quickly moved them on. "Come on," he announced, briskly. "We're wasting time. Now where in the Gods' names is he likely to be?" For a moment, his mind turned to the Royal Box where Ariadne sat, temptingly no doubt, next to a quite lovely blonde-haired girl. He wouldn't have put it past Jason, even in his diminished state, to give in to his ever-present, irritatingly inescapable need to bask in his beloved's presence. But Pythagoras was shaking his head, eyes thoughtful, already heading back to the Stadium gates.

"Jason mentioned something about checking all was set up for the running races and finding somewhere to sit down." He harrumphed, quietly. "It's anyone's guess if he's actually taken the load off his feet but I would stake my triangles on the prospect that he is fulfilling his duties on the field. Although now that the races have begun, he may be moving on to somewhere else."

Hercules resisted a sigh. True, his own irritation was something to behold but he sensed his young friend did not need to be any more riled up on the matter than he was. One of these days, he worried that the knot in the centre of Pythagoras' forehead would become a permanent feature. Quickly, he followed the mathematician back through the gates. "Then we'll have to hope our paths cross on the way. Let's go then. We'd better stick as close as we can to the crowds so we don't draw attention to ourselves."

And so with Hercules leading the way, they re-entered the arena, hugging the walls as closely as they could. Fortunately, they did not seem to be the only spectators out of the stands and wandering the grounds: it seemed several people, probably those nearer the front and wanting better views of the running races, had a similar idea. Pythagoras unconsciously pressed a little closer to their bodies, hoping to disguise himself amongst their number. He felt sure his nervous intent must be written all over his face: could they really all be in danger? What if he had got it wrong? It wouldn't exactly be the first time such a thing had happened. He swept his keen glance around the thousands of people, jostling in the stands, applauding, frowning, grinning and he silently gulped. Hercules was right: a poorly thought-out warning could well send them all into a blind panic – pushing, shoving each other, climbing over the fallen bodies of the ones in front in an eagerness to escape. There were women and children amongst their number, the frail and elderly. Pythagoras shuddered.

"Keep up, will you?" Hercules suddenly hissed in his ear. Pythagoras started, looking about himself. He's right, the young man thought, I'm falling behind, lost in my daydreaming – again. Nodding, he made a pointed show of pulling himself firmly back into the present.

"Hercules, I've been thinking." He paused as his grizzly friend raised an impatient eyebrow. "There are rooms within the stadium itself." Pythagoras pointed to far left of the arena where a series of arched entrance ways, set into the stone wall of the stadium, led on to rooms closed off to the public, where athletes might relax and have their aching muscles tended to. "They house areas for rest and for recuperation if an athlete is injured or simply wants refreshment." Hercules waved an impatient hand at him to hurry up. "Yes," Pythagoras rushed on, "but my point is that I wonder if Jason might have gone there instead? His position gives him access and it would be away from prying eyes." He gave a soft laugh. "You know how Jason likes to keep to the periphery of things."

"Perhaps," Hercules agreed. "But that's completely the _opposite_ way to where we're going. We'll check it on the way back."

"Or I could check it now and whoever finds him first, comes to find the other one? Or we meet at an arranged place?"

But his older friend frowned and began shaking his head, resolutely. "I don't want us splitting up."

"For goodness _sake_, Hercules!" The sharp note to Pythagoras' voice, brought out by his feeling of urgency, made his friend pause, surprised. "I am perfectly capable of investigating a simple set of rooms in a very public place, surrounded by thousands of people and _plenty_ of Palace guards! Now please stop fussing and let us use our time effectively to find Jason and get this whole Persian business off our shoulders and on to the _authorities'_ shoulders, where it belongs." He paused for a deep breath, his thin frame tense. "It is not that I begrudge this task," he added more softly, "but there are _thousands_ of people's lives potentially at stake here and, unlike you and Jason, _I_ am _no-one's _champion." Honest blue eyes implored his friend for reason.

For a moment, Hercules dropped his gaze. He placed a heavy hand on the young man's shoulder. "You're right. I need to trust you more. The Gods know, though I'm not sure how you do it, you have helped me out of a few tricky spots before." He watched Pythagoras smile, weakly.

"I carried you all the way home from the Northern Gate when you passed out drunk at the foot of that watch tower. The one belonging to the trainee guard."

"_Dragged_, was more like it," Hercules quickly countered. "The heels of my boots were as thin as parchment when I woke up the next morning and I _still_ suspect you took me on a purposeful detour through the brambles. But yes, I should try and trust you a little more. But we don't waste time trying to find each other. If Jason's not there, go straight to the Gates and wait for me to join you. If he's not on the field, I'll swing by the athletes' rooms to look for you and if you're not there, I'll head to the Gates where I _will_ expect to find you waiting for me, with or without that wretched boy!" His tone had hardened and he fixed a firm look on his young friend who met his glare with mild apprehension. "Understood?" Hercules demanded.

Pythagoras nodded. "I'll see you later," he said and with one clap to his large friend's shoulder, he turned and walked away towards the archways.

Hercules watched him recede further into the distance for a moment, shaking his head at his friend. Honestly, he didn't remember Pythagoras being so headstrong and impulsive before. It _had_ to be Jason's influence. He had rather hoped that out of his two young charges, _Pythagoras'_ temperament would rub off on _Jason_ and not the other way around. Setting off for the fields once more, he silently mused at how cruel the Gods could be with their little tricks sometimes. The crowd cheered once more as the runners made another mad dash along the tracks ahead. For a moment, Hercules idly wondered which one of them was this Philip – the _cause_ of half the problems they were currently experiencing. The big man had half a mind to trip him up as he ran past.

"Hercules?"

Jason's voice seemingly came out of no-where and made him leap around, his hand clasped dramatically to his heart.

"What are you doing here? The refreshment sellers are all in the stands." Jason stood, regarding him with a slightly querulous expression.

For a moment, Hercules frowned at Jason and folded his arms smartly across his chest. "It may surprise you to know that my world does not consist _solely_ of pies and ale."

"Sorry. I'm just a bit surprised, that's all." He hesitated. "Is everything alright?" For a moment, the young man's thoughts turned to Pythagoras and the secret he had so reluctantly agreed to keep. And now that he looked at his bulky friend carefully, there was certainly something _darker_, something more…_purposeful_ about him. Jason took a very quick glance about them. They were at the far edge of the running field, close to the spectators' stands. No guards nearby but that was probably a good thing. If Hercules was planning on doing what he feared he was, then they would either _arrest_ Hercules, or take _him_ to Pasiphae, or _both_. There was not a single eventuality in that list that appealed to him.

"So, what's up?"

Hercules unfolded his arms and, if such a thing were even possible, the worry lines in the middle of his forehead deepened. Jason sighed. Hercules was not happy and it didn't take a genius to figure out why. Hedging his bets, he asked: "You spoke to Pythagoras, didn't you?"

The wrestler glowered. "Frequently. He happens to share the same house as me. But yes, for your information I _have_ spoken to Pythagoras and _no_ I'm not happy about it and _yes_ you had better believe that you have a lot of explaining to do and a damn lot of resting to do!" As Hercules spoke, his face had grown redder and his voice louder until, by the time he had finished, he was practically shouting and had started to draw some rather odd stares from people nearby. Jason winced, shushing him with his hands.

"Alright! I get the message. But I didn't exactly have a choice."

"That is …" But suddenly Hercules stopped and took a deep breath. Time, he reminded himself firmly, was short and he had other matters to attend to before dragging the boy home. "Well, we'll come to that later," he grumbled, causing Jason to raise a curious (if rather relieved) eyebrow. For Hercules to grant him a stay of execution, it must be something pretty serious. "Right now, we've got another problem. Pythagoras thinks he's overheard some kind of Persian plot."

Jason stared back at him, non-plussed. "Persian? Like cats?"

"_Cats_? Why on Earth would we be worried about an invasion of cats? What exactly do you think they've been plotting? No, never mind that! _Persians_! Honestly, I thought they were _educating_ you in this palace." Jason rolled his eyes and pressed his lips together. His head was killing him and he was starting to wish that he'd _really_ listened to Pasiphae and stayed in bed. He had actually been in the process of taking Pythagoras' advice and lying down when he had spotted Hercules blindly making his way towards the field and had seen the need to intercept. The last thing he needed right now was another incredulous round of questioning as to how dumb was he?

"_Men from Persia,_" Hercules clarified impatiently. "Sworn enemies of Greece. Pythagoras overheard them talking and for once, he may be on to something." Jason still looked confused. Hercules sighed. "I'll explain on the way – come on. Let's find Pythagoras." And on saying this, he put a hand on Jason's arm and began gently leading him back towards to the athlete's resting chambers. As he walked, he told Jason about the few words Pythagoras had been able to make out but far from spurring Jason on, as the man had expected it would, Jason suddenly pulled up short.

The young man turned to face his friend with wide, anxious eyes. "They were planning to kill someone?" His voice was gripped with urgency and he cast a fearful expression back towards the stands.

For a moment, Hercules looked baffled, somewhat surprised at Jason's reaction: they had faced similar, if not worse proclamations in the past and yet Jason had borne them with merely a steely determination. Not with anxiety. It must, he decided grimly, be down to the lad's illness. He really shouldn't be asking this of him and as soon as Jason had quietly put them in touch with the right people, he was going _straight_ home. Now that he looked at him closely he saw the way his breath came in shallow gasps and how his muscles trembled.

"That's usually what the words _fire_ and _death_ mean, yes. But we're not going to get anywhere standing around here and discussing it."

But Jason hesitated, his expression torn. "I have to get to the King and Queen," he insisted. "I need to get them out of here."

Hercules raised an incredulous eyebrow, his expression growing darker. "Jason, we've got more to worry about than the blessed Royal family!"

"But they're _my_ family! If there's a foreign threat, who do you think is going to be their main targets? I can't just leave them."

Hercules growled. "Minos and Pasiphae and everyone in that box have a whole _army_ of guards surrounding them! They don't _need_ you, too. There are thousands of people in these stands who have _no-one_." He watched the boy's tormented expression for a moment as Jason cast another glance back to where Ariadne and his mother and stepfather sat, applauding the races with measured restraint. Hercules saw the guilt that haunted the young man's eyes and pressed his advantage home. "Need I remind you that Pythagoras is also out there somewhere? _Looking_ _for you_. I know I've not been with you for every step of this path that you're on. But I _also_ know that it wasn't so long ago that you would never have even _thought_ about abandoning your friends."

Jason sighed, his shoulders hunched. Though he itched to get his family out of harm's way, Hercules' words sunk in, burying their way deep down, past instinct and into reason: he was right. The Royal Box was well-guarded, no matter how badly he may want to go and check their well-being for himself. And Pythagoras was out there somewhere. How could he live with himself if he failed to act and allowed one of his good friends to come to harm? Hercules and Pythagoras had taken him in to their own ramshackle little family without the obligation of blood and duty, many months before, when he had literally no-one else to turn to. With a bitter resolve, he nodded and felt the world swim around him as he did so. The fatigue was taking its grip once more – the dizziness making his head spin. Perhaps it was the adrenaline pumping through his body, but Jason felt his heartbeat quicken.

"Alright. Let's find Pythagoras and then we can try and work out what's going on."

Hercules clapped him on the shoulder, feeling a margin of guilt himself for causing the boy such unease. But that Jason would come around to his way of thinking eventually, he had not doubted. The boy had a good heart and despite the efforts of Pasiphae and Minos, Hercules did not see that changing. Certainly not while he was around to remind Jason of what was important and to have him hold on to those pesky values that both made Jason so brave and loyal and also caused Hercules innumerable headaches as the lad dashed off to save yet another poor innocent.

"He's gone to the athlete's resting chambers." He set off at once, surprised once more at how he was having to slow his pace to allow Jason to keep up with him. "You going to be alright?"

Jason cast an irritated glance across at Hercules as he jogged beside him, keeping close to the stands. "I'm _fine_," he ground out, through sharp breaths. Then he looked back to the way ahead and studiously ignored the lingering gaze of his well-meaning but often over-bearing friend.

By the time they reached the room, sweat soaked his back and trickled uncomfortably down his spine. Jason paused in the doorway, holding on to the frame for support as he leant his head against the cool stone. A hand on his shoulder made him jump – he had almost let the roar of the crowds and the shout of the competitors mute around him, fading into the background. Hercules' presence was also something that had phased out of his awareness for a moment as the thumping of the blood in his ears and the persistent rocking in his head consumed his attention.

He spun to face his friend though as soon as he released the doorframe, he swayed. A large, meaty hand shot out and gripped him tightly by the arm, quickly followed by another which went to his opposite shoulder and gently but firmly pushed him back upright.

Jason closed his eyes against the wave of nausea and dizziness, willing the world to straighten out and allow him to function properly. When he risked opening his eyes, Jason wasn't surprised to see that he was staring straight into the worried, angry eyes of his large friend. He still winced to see that expression. Before he could utter a word, Hercules spoke:

"You need to sit down," he muttered quietly. "I shouldn't have involved you. You lie down here and I'll come get you when it's over." But Jason narrowed his eyes and angrily forced himself out of Hercules' steadying grasp.

"I'm not sitting in here while everything unfolds around me. I don't know why you suddenly think that I would." Jason ignored the heavy sigh from his friend and the way Hercules rolled his eyes.

"You are _impossible_."

"And _you_ haven't got time to argue with me. I don't see Pythagoras in here. Can you?"

Hercules held Jason's resolute expression for a moment longer. By the gods, he could strangle that boy! But Jason simply stared back at him, unwaveringly stubborn. So, with a harsh sigh and a promise of retribution in his eyes – which he was certain Jason understood – he stepped further inside the room and looked about. A few athletes lay on the beds provided, being tended to by various physicians or by various women. Hercules quietly snorted. If Pythagoras _had_ made it in here, he would have quickly left when he saw what was going on in that corner in the far side of the room. As it was, there was no sign of the young genius. "He must be by the Gate."

As quickly as they could, they left the rooms and made their way back to the gate. If Jason still felt dizzy, he didn't show it, pressing on ahead so that Hercules was forced to keep up. Damn that foolish boy! He thought, irritably. He was doing it to prove a point now, he just knew he was. When they arrived at the gates, all was quiet. Even the few shoppers who had been idling around the goods had now disappeared. The slave boys sat behind their stalls, feet propped up on wooden crates and straw hats covering their faces as they dozed in the sun. The air felt strangely still and silent – it was quite unnerving, compared to the frenzied activity going on with the nearby stadium walls. The tiny hairs on the back of Jason's neck started to prickle.

Looking about the empty market, he turned to Hercules, a question in his eyes. "He's not here. Where else could he have gone?"

While Jason's expression was merely curious, Hercules' was most definitely one of growing concern and worry. "I don't know. I _knew_ I shouldn't have left him! You boys are going to be the death of me, I swear."

Jason rolled his eyes at Hercules' predictable bout of melodrama. "You always leap to the worst conclusions. Pythagoras is more capable of looking after himself than you often give him credit for." He paused. "I'm sure we'll find him on the way. What else is there that you can tell me?"

Still clearly unconvinced that his young blonde friend would simply pop up along the way, Hercules had to admit that standing and staring about themselves was getting them no-where. "One of the men Pythagoras heard was the same man whose wine barrels I've been guarding for the last two weeks."

Jason's eyes widened in surprise. "The ones I helped you unload?" Hercules nodded.

"But the ones on his stand are _not_ the ones I've been guarding." He led Jason over to the empty stall and showed him the wine that was on display. "Whatever I was guarding, it _wasn't_ wine. I just know it wasn't."

Jason eyed them appraisingly. "I can't tell if they're the same or not," he admitted. But Hercules firmly shook his head.

"The ones I was guarding were a darker wood and they had a bronze hoop around the middle of the cask."

It took a moment but Jason's eyes suddenly lit up. "I know them!" he exclaimed. "I've seen them stacked below the stadium in the tunnels. It was where I left…" He trailed off, eyes widening as his face paled even more. Without another word, Jason turned and ran, not into the stadium itself but around the outside circumference of the wall. As Hercules caught up with the sudden turn of events, he took off after the boy and as he ran, noticed for the first time that at various points along the stone wall, narrow steps led down to a small wooden door, set low into wall. These must, he reasoned, allow access to the tunnels that ran beneath the stadium itself. But there were dozens of little doors set into the wall and there seemed to be no discernable markings on them that he could see, telling a person into which tunnel they would be entering. Hercules could only assume that Jason knew them all, inside and out. He wouldn't put it past the boy.

"Will you slow down and tell me what on Earth is going on?" he called out to Jason, finally drawing level with the boy. Jason stopped and spun to face him, his expression pained, his eyes bright.

"I saw those barrels in the tunnels where the merchants keep their week's supplies." Suddenly, Jason staggered to one side. His head lulled back in a circle, his face white and heavily beaded with sweat. He stared, uncomprehendingly at Hercules.

"Jason?" Hercules' voice sounded distant to the boy's ears, the man himself fading into shadow before his eyes.

One last wave rocked him as Jason pitched forwards and hit the dusty earth in a crumpled, unmoving heap.

* * *

Ok – I've made a start on the last chapter so hopefully it will be out much more promptly than this one was. I hope you enjoyed it.


	14. Chapter 14

The Road Ahead

Standard disclaimer applies – I don't own them.

A/N: Thank you to everyone who has been kind enough to review the last chapter and to _Ash_ and _jmp_ who I can't thank privately. And _jmp_, I wouldn't worry – Jason knows, deep down, where his loyalties really lie! But he _is_ getting kind of fond of his new family, too. :-) I know it was a long time coming but I'm glad people still enjoyed it. I know I said this would be the last chapter but I haven't quite managed to make it fit. So this will be the penultimate one instead. Please enjoy!

Chapter 14

"Jason?" Hercules was kicking himself. He could have spotted that fall a mile away and as it was, he had moved to intercept Jason's impact with the ground. But too late. He heard the resulting thud with his heart in his mouth. By the gods, where was Pythagoras when he needed him?

Hercules dropped to his knees beside his young friend and rolled him from his side, onto his back. He could feel the boy's breath on his hands and breathed a heavy sigh of relief. Thank the gods! Jason's face was as white as he had seen it and from head to foot, the lad was drenched in perspiration. His whole body was trembling and Hercules placed a hand on his chest, feeling the uneven flutter of his heart. He slid his hand under the neck of Jason's tunic to better feel his heartbeat and his eyes widened when the familiar lines of the ribcage presented themselves with far more clarity than they had any business doing on a lad as fit and strong as Jason. "Jason?" he called again, cradling the boy's head in his lap and patting his cheek to rouse him. Damn it! How had he missed the boy's deterioration?

He gave the shoulders he held a mild shake, pleased to finally hear a faint groan coming from the back of Jason's throat. Slowly, the boy's head began to move from side to side, eyes still closed as he fought his way back to waking world.

"That's it, lad. Come on – that's the way. Open your eyes."

Jason, from somewhere within his re-emerging consciousness, latched on to the encouragement. Hercules held his breath as he watched the hazel eyes slowly emerge for brief moments at a time under fluttering eyelids. Finally, the eyes set open and stared in confusion, up at him.

"There you go," the older man praised, his tone low and soothing. He ran a hand over Jason's forehead, feeling the heat with a deep frown. Blinking owlishly, Jason acted on instinct, feeling a degree of vulnerability, lying on the ground. He carefully tried pushing himself to sit up, only to find that the higher his head became, the more the world swam once more and without his permission, his head landed back down onto Hercules' lap with a heavy thud. He tried this once more with the same result before Hercules sighed, sharply and put a hand on his chest, preventing him from rising again.

"For goodness sake, Jason. You'll have to accept that you can't sit up at the moment. Just give it a couple of minutes." An almost petulant scowl crossed the young man's face, causing Hercules to shake his head in exasperation. But Jason did as instructed and lay still, allowing Hercules to occasionally smooth a calloused hand through his hair, which the larger man did, almost unconsciously. After what seemed to Jason like a lifetime, Hercules finally patted his shoulder, lightly. "Alright, lad. Let's see if we can try again now. Slowly!" he warned, as Jason immediately levied himself onto his elbows. "Easy does it."

Jason silently nodded, his face starting to burn as he properly recognised the weakened state he was in. Pushing away the hands that came to help him, Jason rolled onto his hands and knees, wincing as the cuts on his legs rubbed against the hard ground. Then, with a measured effort, he climbed to his feet and, rather unsteadily at first, stood up.

All the while, Hercules held his breath as he watched these fragile efforts, prepared to leap in if he saw his friend falter. He silently held out his water flask, pressing it into Jason's hands. Though the water inside was warm and a little gritty with sand, Jason still gulped it down, gratefully, coughing a little as it went down. When he was done, he felt Hercules take it back, securing the strap over his shoulder as Jason bowed his head a moment, breathing deeply. Hercules was no healer, but even he could see the signs of a fever starting. Damn it all! He glanced about them, unwilling to walk Jason all the way back home in his current state but looking for a shady place to set the boy down to rest, out of the heat of the sun. But when Jason eventually lifted his head, the boy's dark eyes were focused and his expression, determined. "Thanks," he muttered, "but I'm fine now. We should get going."

"Now just hold your horses!" Hercules interrupted, standing in front of Jason to block his escape. The lad may be determined but Hercules had no doubt that if he wanted to, he could quite easily overpower Jason in the boy's current state. "_You_ may be quite happy to be on your merry way as if nothing at all happened, but _I'm_ not!" He glared daggers at Jason and watched with grim satisfaction as Jason's expression morphed from determined and challenging, to miserable and fearful. "You're not well and this has been coming for a _long_ time. I can't believe I've let it go on for so long. Well, not any more!" Jason's eyes widened and he opened his mouth to protest but Hercules cut him off with a raised hand and a raised voice to match: "No! You're _not_ going to keep lying to me."

At that, Jason narrowed his eyes in anger. "I don't know what you're talking about," he protested, vehemently. "I was bitten by a spider – that's all."

Hercules scoffed, puffing up even more. "Do you think I was born yesterday?" he demanded. "Do you know what _I_ think?"

"I don't _care_ what you think! This is _none of your business_."

For a second, Jason watched the flash of hurt cross his older friend's face but though he felt the guilt inside, they didn't have time to dwell on it. In a gentler tone, he continued. "Myrtle is waiting by those barrels that I told you about. If these Persians are going to cause trouble, then I've left her right in the thick of things. I could try and direct you to where I left her but you'd never find her in time." He paused, dark eyes imploring Hercules for a little faith and understanding. "I _will_ rest. I _promise_. But right now, lives are at stake and I'm not _so_ ill that I can't at least lead you to where I saw those barrels. Then if you think we need to get help, I'll find the Captain of the Guards and get it sorted quietly."

For what seemed like a long moment, Hercules simply stood opposite him and glowered at Jason, arms folded across his chest like a barred gate. Jason held his gaze, praying Hercules came around. He had no desire to fight his friend and even if he _had_, Jason didn't fancy his chances of getting past the ex-wrestler. However, just as Jason's brain started to seek another tactic, Hercules reluctantly stepped aside, his expression almost murderous.

"I'm _not_ happy about this," he stated, rather unnecessarily. "You show me where these barrels are – _that's it_. Understand?" And rather meekly, Jason nodded.

"This way," he said, quietly, hesitating a moment before moving off, just in case Hercules changed his mind and decided to tackle him to the ground or throw him over his shoulder instead. But he didn't, sorely tempted though, he might have been.

* * *

This, Minos thought, was a particularly good race. The runners were evenly matched and though Atlantis was yet to win a laurel wreath, Timos – a local butcher, if he remembered Jason's notes correctly – seemed on fine form. He leaned forwards slightly as he watched the runners round the corner of the track, eyes alight with interest. Timos was on the outside and had just crept into the lead with only the last short dash to go. Pylos, an impressive athlete from Helos, was fast on his heels, overtaking and then falling behind as the finish line approached. The shouts of the crowd became almost deafening as each city cried out for its victor. As Timos shot past the line, the crowd surged to their feet at once, cheering and clapping, hugging each other. Minos, though far more restrained with his applause, sat back in his seat, grinning. King Pinytus turned and congratulated him on Atlantis' win which he graciously accepted.

Still smiling, Minos looked to his wife. "A crown for Atlantis, at last. The first of many, I am sure. Ah, you see. The gods _do_ favour us!"

Pasiphae, however, merely smiled thinly, her eyes still distant and hard. The dark cloud surrounding her mood was in stark contrast to the general atmosphere in the Royal Box and Minos sighed, gently. "My love, I wish you would watch the events themselves instead of scouring the crowd for him." Pasiphae looked to her husband sharply, as though surprised her intent had been so easy to read. Seeing this, Minos smiled, indulgently. "The guards have already searched for him but I honestly cannot believe Jason would come here when he knows we would be looking for him."

The queen snorted, quietly. "Unfortunately, that is something _I _can believe only too well. If the boy believes he has a duty here, there is little that will persuade him otherwise, consequences or not." She exhaled, sharply. "I _knew_ I should have had him watched. He acquiesced far too easily – I should have known. He is out there somewhere and the gods only know if he is sick or injured…" She stopped herself before her voice could rise to notes of hysteria but even so, Minos placed a discrete, comforting hand on her arm. For once, she did not mind its presence.

"I am sure Jason will be found soon. He may even have returned to the Palace by now or have been feeling better when he woke this morning?" Pasiphae almost growled in response, her fingers gripping the ornately carved arms of her chair.

"And if he only had the courtesy to wait until _breakfast_, we could have ascertained this for ourselves." She turned her frustrated expression towards him. "I am not _unreasonable_ – if he had been well enough, I would have allowed him to attend today's events." Looking away, she muttered: "As it stands, he must apparently creep out of the palace while all are sleeping. The guards on the gates should be flogged for their incompetence."

In spite of his desire to calm his wife, Minos could not help but frown at that thought: that Jason had slipped out of their home at night, bothered him a great deal. Some might say that he was paranoid, but when you were a member of the Royal family and in times such as they lived, it paid to be cautious and it certainly paid to be protective of your family. Minos did not approve of any member of his family being abroad at night, and never unaccompanied where assassins and kidnappers and those who opposed his rule, may strike at any one of them, without provocation. Jason was obviously used to such practices in his home in the city and his battle against the Earth Bull clearly showed the lad was brave and able to defend himself. But that was not the point. When he went to bed each night, he went at peace with the knowledge that those he loved were safe and secure within his Palace walls. Not roaming the darkness at the mercy of anyone.

In front of the Royal Box, the winner of the most recent event stood in the circle, receiving his crown and his applause. Though her eyes remained cold, Pasiphae automatically applauded and briefly waved to the winner and the cheering crowd as Minos nodded his congratulations to the man.

Once the king had sat back in his seat and the next round of athletes prepared for their turn, he looked once more to his clearly unhappy wife. "He will be found," he repeated, firmly. "And when he is and when he is safely home, we shall make our feelings on this matter plain to him." Grimness laced the king's voice for a moment. The boy had worried _him_ too though for his wife's sake, he made no show of it. As king, it had been a long time since his orders had been so openly defied but it was Jason's welfare that concerned him the most – not to mention his wife's happiness. He really did hate to see her so upset. "I very much doubt that the boy shall make this mistake again."

"_I_ certainly shall not," Pasiphae added. "The next time I order him to rest I shall not be so trusting of his obedience, nor so tolerant of his wilfulness!"

Minos smiled softly at his wife's ire, despite the seriousness of her intent. It was only because she loved her son that she worried so. He actually felt somewhat sorry for his stepson and only hoped that whatever pressing matter Jason had to attend to, was worth it.

* * *

Together Jason and Hercules entered through one of the small wooden doors and into the tunnel. Hercules had hauled the door open before Jason could even reach for the handle, determined as he was that Jason avoid any and all strenuous activity. Once in the tunnels, Hercules was pleasantly surprised by the amount of air and natural light available, made largely so by the grid vents in the roof of the tunnel, set at regular intervals apart.

"This way," Jason announced, cautiously unsheathing his sword as they pressed on deeper into the tunnel. Hercules, he noted from the corner of his eye, did the same. Neither one of them knew exactly what to expect down here, but they would be prepared for anything.

* * *

Her feet had started to ache and the chill of the tunnels began to creep around Myrtle's shoulders, but she could not have cared less. As she sank down onto one of the wooden crates, she wrapped her blanket about her shoulders and used the one Jason had given her to cushion her feet on the floor. All the while, she beamed to herself, even as tears had streaked her cheeks: tears of regret, of pride and of joy. She had seen him again. She had seen her Phillip compete. Her son had raced past where she concealed herself, so close to her that had the grate not been in the way and had he slowed long enough, she could have reached out a hand and touched him. The boy was a young man now: strong and tall and as handsome as she remembered him to be, the face matured and defined since its days of awkward youth. He had not won his crown but to his mother, he was the only victor in the entire arena. If she died now, the old leper thought, she would die complete, knowing her son was a young man to be proud of.

A noise from down the tunnel suddenly startled her. Footsteps, coming her way. Jason? Perhaps, though they sounded wrong somehow – too heavy, too purposeful. Instinct took over and Myrtle quickly stood, gathering up her few belongings and wrapping them up in a bundle. Then she quietly slipped around the side of the crates and secreted herself away behind them, comfortably concealed between the crates and the wall. Keeping her breathing as quiet as possible, she listened as the footsteps drew nearer and waited for their owner to pass by.

However, to her dismay, the footsteps stopped right by her hiding place. For a moment, Myrtle could hear the deep breathing of a man and the shuffling of feet as he seemed to move one of the crates, or possibly the barrels. Peering through a crack in the crates, Myrtle watched the stranger – a dark man in a long blue robe, his eyebrows heavy and his eyes cold. The man levered open one of the crates and withdrew from it a long bow and a quiver of arrows which he secured around his shoulders. Around each arrow shaft, near the head, a thick white cloth had been wrapped. The old woman's heart began to beat hard and she pressed herself more firmly against the cool stone wall, willing him not to investigate his surroundings.

Next, the man moved to one of the barrels, prising the lid off and dipping each arrow into a thick black oil. The smell was unusual – not like the oil she remembered burning in braziers and lamps. With practiced ease, the man hopped up onto the first crate and began to climb the stack until he reached the top and stood, just below the grate. He was right above Myrtle now. As she looked up from where she crouched behind the stack, she could see him lean the bow against the wall and place the quiver of arrows next to him. Then he took hold of the iron vent with both hands and pushed against it until, with a quiet creak, the grid lifted and then fell down flat on the grass outside. Picking up his bow once more, he withdrew a tinder box and struck a light. Holding it against the cloth on the arrow, it quickly set ablaze, burning with an intensity Myrtle had seldom seen.

Aiming at something in the distance, across the field, the man set the arrow and drew back the bowstring. Too afraid to move, Myrtle closed her eyes and offered up a prayer to Poseidon. At that moment a rush of movement took both her and the stranger by surprise. One moment he was taking aim and the next, the arrow had been knocked from his grasp as a flurry of hands and feet came flying his way, knocking the man from his perch.

With a cry, he tumbled to the floor, hitting the crates in various ways as he reached the ground. Jason landed soon after him, a kick to the man's stomach following and then a punch straight across the jaw, leaving the stranger out cold on the floor.

"Myrtle?"

Hearing the young man's urgent voice, calling her name, she knew at once her prayers had been answered. Quickly, the woman crawled out of her hiding space, quite ashen and shaking. "Jason!" she cried, coming to meet him as he gripped her gently around the shoulders. "Thank Poseidon!" She pointed down to the man on the floor. "He opened one of those barrels and dipped the arrows in it. It is some kind of oil."

The arrow in question still burned in the sand and Hercules, who until this point, Myrtle had failed to notice, quickly stamped on it and smothered it with sand yet still the flames burned, though they were at least contained. The big man looked over to Jason. Once they had heard the noises coming from up ahead, he honestly hadn't seen Jason move, otherwise he would have made a grab for him. But it was like the boy was in the bull arena again, leaping those blasted cattle. Once he saw the man atop the crates, aiming his flaming arrow out at the crowds, Jason had all but flown up to the top, swinging his legs around as he leapt to kick the man off balance. Even now, though his face was pale and arms trembling, the boy was somehow functioning – keeping the fight in him. He truly _was_ special. There was no denying it, especially at times like these when any other man would have been passed out on the floor.

Jason climbed to the top of the crates as Hercules looked up after him, more than a little worried that his head would swim again and that he would fall. Peering through the grid, Jason scanned the distance. "What do you think he would have been aiming at?" Jason called down to Hercules.

Hercules glanced at the fallen bow. "It's a longbow," he called back. "Something in the far distance I would imagine, given its range." Nodding, Jason returned his gaze to scouring the far side of the arena. Suddenly, his eyes narrowed. Leaning back, he looked back down to the open barrel and frowned.

He hopped back to the floor in one smooth movement, though he could not help but stumble as he hit the ground. Hercules reached out a hand to steady him and for once, his effort was not rebuffed. Jason faced him, his expression urgent. "Whatever is in those barrels," he began, "there are dozens more. They're lined up along the stands and dotted around the arena in various places. I'd bet there's more that I can't even see. I can't believe no-one spotted them before. They're everywhere."

Hercules grim expression did little to put Jason's worry to rest. "It's some kind of oil that's bloody difficult to stop burning. If those flaming arrows hit those barrels, the gods themselves on Olympus will be able to see the fire."

Jason felt his blood run cold. If those fires were lit, they would trap the people in their seats, set every combustible thing in this whole stadium alight. He doubted anyone would be spared – not the people, not Pythagoras and not his family. There had to be more Persians - no one man alone could light so many fires at one time and they must all burn together, surely, if they were going to be effective.

He glanced down to the inert man on the floor. "There must be more of them, placed around the arena. They're probably using the tunnel vents and the high points of the stands to fire their arrows – it's the best chance they'd have of going unnoticed. Hercules, can you get Myrtle safely to the tunnel's exit? Just follow it along – she knows the way." Glancing to Myrtle, he saw the worry in the old woman's eyes as she placed a hand to his cheek. Then she smiled at him, as if in reassurance and nodded.

"I'll find you when this is over," Jason promised her. "Just wait for me by the tunnel's exit and I can get you safely past the guards and out of the arena."

"And then _I _will take you back to the colony," Hercules interjected, forcefully, shooting a look at Jason that just dared him to object. Fortunately however, Jason had no intention of objecting. Truth be told, his body was about to betray him and it was all he could do not to sigh in relief when he heard Hercules offer to take that particular responsibility off his shoulders.

He gave a willing nod. "You'll be fine," he promised her. "Hercules knows what he's doing."

She patted his hand. "I have every faith. And what will you do?"

Jason glanced back at the fallen man. "I'm going to find the Captain of the Guards and tell him what's going on. We'll need the soldiers to search the grounds. They've got to get those barrels out of the way and find the other men."

And so, Hercules took Myrtle by the arm and led her away, casting a worried backwards glance to Jason as he left. Once they were gone, Jason checked that the arrow was finally out and then quickly put the lid back on the barrel, just in case. As he neared the black liquid, his sense of smell twitched in recognition and his eyebrows raised. If he didn't know any better, he would swear it was crude oil.

Turning to go, Jason suddenly let out a startled yelp as a hand reached out and grabbed his ankle. It tugged, pulling him to the floor until he landed hard on the ground. The Persian, it seemed, had not been as incapacitated as he had hoped. _Damn it._

Pain lanced through his chest as the man leapt upon him with an angry, savage roar, hurling words at him in a language he could not understand. A heavy elbow landed in Jason's face and he quickly rolled onto his side and then pushed himself up and onto his feet. His hand drew his sword but before he had a chance to use it, his attacker kicked at it, sending the weapon sliding across the floor and well out of Jason's reach. The man reached for the nearby arrow on the ground. It may not be flaming, but it looked sharp enough. He thrust it at Jason, lunging forwards though it was clear he was not prepared for the speed at which Jason arched out of his reach. Spinning around, the man lunged again, wildly slicing the blade across the air. Jason hissed as he felt a white hot line tear across his back and moments later, felt the trickle of blood seep down from his shoulder blades.

The man's lips curled up into a cruel, mocking smile, having tasted first blood. Jason fought a sudden, violent wave of dizziness and nausea. It rocked his head and punched him in the gut and he had to plant his feet firmly into the ground to stop himself from falling. _I must not fall,_ he told himself, repeating the mantra over and over. _I can do this. Just a little longer_.

The arrow had clearly been an impulsive choice, Jason realised - the first thing the fallen Persian had to hand. Now that he had regained his senses, he threw the arrow to the ground and unsheathed his scimitar. Jason eyed the curved blade with growing apprehension, slowly edging backwards. He hated swords, he really did. Guns were awful too, but at least every Tom, Dick and Harry hadn't run around slicing each other up with swords, where he had come from. Once more the man ran at him, his blade raised, ready to sweep down in a wide arc. This time however, Jason was ready. As the blade arced down towards his head, Jason suddenly pitched forwards and rolled low, safely out of the blade's reach. The man shouted angrily and turned, his arm raised high to swing again. It was at that moment however that he came out of his roll and in one fluid movement, Jason's fingers grasped the fallen arrow and, lancing on one knee, he thrust the small blade upwards, feeling the sickening crunch as it pierced the torso of his assailant.

For a moment, the two remained frozen, staring at each other with wide, confused eyes, neither one entirely sure of what had just happened. And then, slowly, the man's arm dropped to his side, his sword clattering uselessly to the ground. Jason was breathing heavily, sweat soaking his clothes. He quickly jerked his hand backwards, letting go of the arrow as if it had burned him.

The man sank to his knees and then fell face down in the sand, rolling on to his side as the arrow-shaft prevented him from lying flat. Jason was fairly certain this time, that the man was dead. With shaking legs, he sat back on his haunches and doubled over, trying to breathe deeply as the air in his chest constricted. He was aware of retching violently which did nothing to help him ease his laboured breathing.

The tunnel air was suddenly too thin for him. The shapes around him began to swirl, blackening around the edges and Jason fought with everything he had to avoid the familiar spiral into unconsciousness. He had to alert the guards! They weren't saved yet.

But things were dim now – confusing. Jason imagined he heard footsteps and harsh voices, though the man he fought was dead. Wasn't he?

A sudden cry sounded, loud and very real, just above his ear. It jolted the young man, helping to rally a few more of his senses into action. A noise like a loud clang sounded next, followed by a heavy thud that shook the ground. Jason felt a body fall next to him and dimly looked to the side. A man lay on his side, some kind of leopard skin wrapped around his tunic. It didn't make any sense and Jason was feeling very tired. Just a little sleep, he told himself. Just a little sleep and it will all make sense in the morning.

"Jason?" Large hands gripped his shoulders and shook him, snapping his head backwards. The same hands now slapped at his cheeks, causing Jason to irritably open his eyes and scowl up at his attacker. The boy had honestly half expected the dead Persian to be standing over him and was mildly surprised to see Hercules instead, looking down on him with wide, concerned eyes. "You're alright, lad," he said. He rubbed a gentle hand on Jason's back, mindful of the cut that still bled across his shoulders. The soothing rubbing helped a little, as did the gruffly gentle words.

It took Jason a few moments longer to register that he had been manoeuvred into a seated position and that Hercules knelt in front of him and an unconscious man lay by his side. Slowly, Jason turned a puzzled look to this new man and then a curious look to his friend. Seeing the boy's confusion, Hercules just shrugged. "What can I say? My timing, as always, is impeccable. I had just left your friend by the exit and was coming round the corner back to you when I see you hunched over on the ground and oblivious to every single thing going on around you! Including, as it happens, the Persian over there who had presumably come looking for his friend and instead, found you."

Jason grimaced and shook his head, trying to clear it. The resulting pain made him wish he hadn't. "He was going to attack me?" Jason asked in a quiet voice, his breathing only just starting to even out to the point where the simple act became bearable. Again, Hercules shrugged, somewhat smugly. "I crept up behind him like a panther and wham! Knocked him out with the handle of my sword." He cast an appraising glance at the man Jason had fought, still inwardly reeling at the fact Jason had been forced to fight for his life, in his weakened condition. But that wasn't the lad's fault. "I figured we needed to leave at least one of these guys alive so they can tell us their plan."

Jason smiled, weakly. "Yeah. But we really should get the guards." He took a deep breath and held out his hand for Hercules to grip. "Help me stand up, would you?" Hercules predictably opened his mouth to protest but Jason cut in first. "I'm not about to launch into battle but I also can't sit here on the floor all day." He was treated to a frown by his friend but Hercules, having seen his point, did help him up, immediately leading Jason to sit down on one of the nearby crates.

At that moment however, more footsteps sounded from the entrance of the tunnel, drumming in unison and coming closer. Tension gripped them and Jason and Hercules exchanged worried glances. Silently, Jason went to grip the handle of his sword, belatedly remembering that it had been kicked away somewhere, during his fight. Hercules drew his own sword, looking down on Jason with steely grit. The boy was exhausted, injured and right now, he was defenceless, too. It was down to him to protect the lad and by the Gods, he intended to do it right.

The footsteps drew nearer – they were just around the corner, a few seconds more and they would be upon them. Stepping in front of Jason, Hercules held his sword out in a defensive position, waiting. However, around the corner came not the band of Persians they had feared but several of the Atlantean guard. The guards stopped short when they came upon the scene: two men, who looked like Persians, lying on the ground, one of them clearly dead and a large, crazed man with a sword, standing in-front of someone and waving that sword in their direction. Immediately, they drew their own weapons.

However, Jason had caught a glimpse of their uniform from behind Hercules' broad back and even though Hercules felt no automatic reassurance at their presence, Jason immediately breathed a sigh of relief. Holding on to Hercules' jerkin, he used it to pull himself up standing and stepped around the bulky man's form.

"Jason!" Hercules hissed, angrily. As far as he was concerned, Palace guards meant nothing but trouble. But Jason ignored him, stepping forwards.

As soon as the guards saw the young prince, clearly bloodied from battle, they snapped alert. "My lord!" One exclaimed, stepping forwards. "What's happened here?" Hercules narrowed his eyes though it was clear that Jason would have to take the lead here.

"There's a plot to burn the stadium and everyone in it," Jason exclaimed, trying hard to keep the panic out of his voice. He pointed to the barrel. "The oil in these barrels is powerful and long-burning. They're positioned all over the stadium." He pointed to the fallen men. "These men were going to shoot flaming arrows into them to start the fires but there have to be more of them. You need to alert the king and find the rest of these men and the rest of the barrels." Speaking so much was starting to make Jason feel a little light-headed but he couldn't stop now: not until the guards knew what they were dealing with. A thought struck him. "What brought you down here anyway?"

The man who had first addressed him, stepped forwards and offered: "We heard a commotion coming from the tunnel vents." He glanced down to the barrel and tentatively opened the lid. "You say this is not ordinary oil?"

"No," came a very familiar, bright voice from behind the guards. "Judging from its appearance and smell, I would say that it is a form of oil mixed with quicklime. The Persians are known for using it primarily in sea battles but I suppose it could be employed quite effectively on land, too." On hearing that voice, both Jason and Hercules broke out into huge, affectionate smiles, shaking their heads at each other. The young blonde man stepped around the guards, still explaining, animatedly.

"It's actually an incredible invention and has such untapped applications for positive, peaceful uses. If I can take a sample home, I'm sure I can work out the separate components of it."

"Pythagoras!" Hercules exclaimed, stepping forwards to envelope the young man in a bear hug while the guards just looked on in confusion. The leader indicated Pythagoras with a jerk of his thumb.

"This man alerted us to a man with a bow and arrow, standing in the stands at the top of the stadium." Hercules raised a very curious eyebrow, fixing a rather unhappy look on Pythagoras.

The young man shrugged. "He wasn't about to fire it but it was clear he intended to. And I could smell something funny that it was soaked in but until I got a look at this barrel, I couldn't be sure what it was." He smiled, shyly as Jason came round to join him and placed a warm hand on the young genius' shoulder. "I knew I couldn't fight him, so I slipped away and alerted the guards. After that, they started looking out for trouble and I suppose that's how they ran into you."

Jason laughed. "Nice work, Pythagoras."

The guard suddenly interrupted and when Jason looked around to him, he saw that those who had accompanied him were gone, as was the unconscious Persian. "My lord, I have dispatched the men to alert the king and to remove the barrels and search for the men." With a frown and a great deal of huffing and puffing, Hercules slowly climbed the stack of crates and barrels until he could look out of the vent. He squinted for a few moments, his eyesight not being what it used to be and Jason and Pythagoras looked up at him, curiously. Presently, he looked back down at them.

"I've got to give these guys credit," Hercules exclaimed, pointing at the remaining guard. "They can move fast when they want to." He ignored the dark look that crossed the guard's face. "The barrels on the opposite side of the stadium have already been removed."

"As I said," the guard reiterated through clenched teeth, "we have everything under control now." Then he looked to Jason. "My Lord, I have orders to bring you to the King and Queen."

"They know I'm in the tunnels?" Jason was surprised to say the least. The guard hadn't left his sight since arriving so how on earth had he exchanged messages with either Minos or Pasiphae? But the man shook his head.

"We have all been under orders to look out for you since the start of the day. We are to bring you to His Majesty as soon as you are found." Hercules immediately puffed up and stepped protectively in-front of Jason. However, Jason placed a reassuring hand on his friend's shoulder.

"It's ok, Hercules," he said quietly though his insides were doing somersaults. They'd had the guards looking for him? Seriously? It was an eventuality that Jason hadn't anticipated and he was fairly certain that meant they had not taken his disappearance with as much nonchalance as he had hoped. Still, at least matters were in hand now and the king would be warned of the danger. With any luck, the guards would take the Royal Family out of harm's way, just to be safe.

To the waiting guard, Jason said, "I'll be right there. Just give me a moment with my friends and I'll see you by the entrance to the stadium." The guard looked torn. He had his orders but the prince was still the prince and his request seemed innocent enough. Hesitantly, he nodded.

"As you wish." Then he turned and left intent on informing the king and queen of his discovery.

Once he was gone, Hercules gathered Jason's fallen sword, handing it to Pythagoras to carry. Then he draped an arm around Jason's waist and helped support the lad as they all made their way out of the tunnel and back towards the stadium's entrance. Finally, they emerged back into the fresh, cool air and they all breathed a sigh of relief as Jason sunk down onto a low stone wall, surrounding a bronze statue of Poseidon in his chariot. He was actually starting to feel much stronger but the rest was welcome all the same. Beside Jason, Pythagoras perched on the wall and carefully drew down the back of his friend's tunic, inspecting the cut which still bled sluggishly. "You were lucky," he announced. Jason frowned. He didn't _feel_ so lucky but Pythagoras quite often displayed what he felt to be inappropriate moments of happiness. "The blade was clean and sharp," he continued, "and with a nice comfrey poultice, this wound should knit back together cleanly." Wearily, Jason nodded, glad for once that this particular poultice did not appear to need either mustard _or_ garlic.

The young blonde frowned a little though. "I can clean the wound but I have nothing to bind it with." He pursed his lips, looking about them. For a moment, he eyed his own, billowing tunic but quickly dismissed the idea - after hiding under market stalls and walking through musty tunnels, it was far from clean.

However, Jason sensed where his protective friend's mind was wandering and raised a hand to ward off his worries: "Don't worry about it," he insisted. "It won't be long before I can get it properly seen to and it's practically stopped bleeding already – I can feel it." He smiled his most reassuring smile at his friend who, though he still did not like leaving an injury untreated, at last relented that until they were back home, there was little he could do and the cut was, for the most part, not a threat.

Seeing that the immediate matter of Jason's injuries was dealt with, Hercules now stepped forward, rounding on a surprised Pythagoras.

"Now where on Earth did you run off to?" he demanded, hands on hips. Jason grinned at the scene before him, glad for once that it was not _he_ who was on the receiving end of one of Hercules' infamous lectures. "We went back to that athletes' room and you weren't there. Nor, might I add, were you waiting by the gate like I told you to be!" Pythagoras lowered his head, suitably cowed at having worried his friends.

"I'm sorry," he apologised. "I _did_ go to the athletes' rooms but while I was in there, I heard a man speaking Persian, walking past the window." His eyes lit up, animatedly and Jason grinned once more, even as Hercules looked on in bafflement. "I recognised the voice as belonging to one of the men I overheard by the market stall. And so I followed him." He finished with such a bright, happy innocence that Jason laughed again, even as Hercules started to splutter.

"Well I think it was quick thinking," Jason said immediately.

"_You_ would!" Hercules retorted but both lads were ignoring him for the moment.

"_And_ you managed to stop a Persian attack and alert the guards. Pretty good going." Pythagoras smiled, bashfully as Hercules rolled his eyes.

"_You_," he said forcefully, pointing to Jason. "Don't encourage him. I don't need _two_ of you running around without a breath of self-preservation between you." Jason merely chuckled but Pythagoras stepped in, a placating expression on his face.

"You are right, my friend. I'm sorry for rushing off. But as you can see, no harm has come of it." He smiled warmly at his friend and eventually, Hercules harrumphed but let the matter slide. The mathematician was right: at least for the most part, it was over and they could now get Jason home and safe, where he belonged.

"Right then," he announced. He turned to where Jason sat. "I presume you have no intention of going to the king and queen, like you told that guard." Seeing the older man's knowing expression, Jason smiled a little guiltily. It generally wasn't in his nature to lie but desperate times and all that.

"The boys' races are about to start and I _do_ need to get Myrtle out of the stadium and past the guards," he admitted. "They're going to be _everywhere_ now, after this but there are still some safe routes that I know."

Hercules sighed. Jason was never going to make his life easy. However, he reluctantly admitted, he _had_ agreed to this part of the plan, however much it worried him. Hercules glanced at a nearby refreshment stall. "You need some more water in you before you go anywhere," he insisted. "Stay here while I get some." And then he was off, leaving Jason and Pythagoras alone, sitting side by side on the wall.

For a moment, there was silence between them: the quiet was nice, comforting. When Pythagoras _did_ speak, it fell naturally into their space. "You know," he remarked, casually. "When I was bringing Myrtle back from the colony, I discovered that she is under the impression that you and I are stepbrothers and that Hercules is my father." He raised a querulous, amused eyebrow at Jason, noting his friend's fierce blush.

"I know," Jason mumbled in embarrassment, his head bowed. "I'm sorry. But she knew I had a stepfather and she _assumed_ we were all a family from when she saw us in the caves and if I _denied_ her assumption then I was worried she would start to ask who my stepfather _really_ was and …"

"Jason!" Pythagoras interrupted, a friendly and amused expression on his face. "Do not worry. I'm not annoyed. I think it's…quite nice, actually. I did nothing to dissuade her from her notion." He winked at Jason, watching the worry and apprehension slowly drain away from his friend's face until at last, Jason smiled back in relief.

"Though," Jason added, a slightly wicked look on his face, "if you think about it, that would make Hercules and Pasiphae married."

Pythagoras gasped, a wide smile spreading over his face. "Good grief!" he exclaimed. "Which one of them do you think would kill the other first?"

Shaking his head, Jason just laughed and soon Pythagoras had joined him. It felt good after recent events. When they had both sobered up somewhat, Jason glanced up to see where Hercules was. He spotted him easily, just finishing up with a drinks' vendor on the far side of the agora. As he turned his head back to Pythagoras, however, something else caught his eye. Now that the boys' races were about to start, many of the athletes from the day's races were slowly filing out of the stadium, no doubt intent on returning to their taverns for rest and a good drink. Jason scanned their number, looking for one in particular. A sea of heads and bodies bobbed through the stadium gates but finally, Jason spotted the short-cropped blonde head that he had been looking for. Turning to Pythagoras, he nodded to the crowd.

"I'll be right back," he whispered before making his way over to his quarry, as quickly as he was able. As he approached Phillip, he called his name and the young man turned to face him. Taking in the rather dishevelled state that Jason was in, the athlete gaped in surprise.

"Hey," Jason began, trying his best to stand tall. "Do you remember me?"

Warily, Phillip nodded, his eyes cautious. "You were in the tavern. You…spoke about my mother."

Jason nodded, pleased that he was at least willing to admit his mother _existed_. "I thought you should know," he continued. "She's here. Right now. Your mother's here. She came to watch you compete. Secretly of course. She might be killed if she's found here." In front of him, Phillip paled, his mouth gaping open. For a few seconds, the man's mouth worked soundlessly.

Finally, he spoke. "She watched me compete?"

Jason nodded, glancing back over his shoulder to see that Hercules had returned to where Pythagoras sat, pointing out where he was. He'd better be quick. "Look, I'm not here to try and make you see her or to make you feel guilty or anything. But if you _do_ want to see her, she'll be just outside the Northern city gate in about an hour." Jason, sighed, watching the guilt and regret pass over Phillip's face. "I just thought you should know," he muttered before walking back to where Hercules stood with his arms folded across his chest. Phillip watched him go for a moment before he seemed to shake himself out of his stupor and hurried out of the stadium and back towards the haven of his tavern room.

Jason rejoined his friends, feeling wearier than he had all day. Wordlessly, Hercules handed him a flask of water which Jason accepted with a small nod of thanks. He drank more slowly this time but the cool water was just as welcome, easing some of the pounding in his head and helping him to feel a little more balanced. He glanced at the newly filled flagon that hung on Hercules' belt. "You stocked up on water, too?"

But Hercules merely snorted. "_Water_? This is wine – nothing but the best."

"What happened to _I'm a changed man_?" Pythagoras challenged with a smile.

His friend merely scowled, waving away the notion with one hand. "I've learnt my lesson. If I had given in to my only-too-logical impulse to open those cursed barrels while I was guarding them and sample the delights within, then I would have known their wretched plan from the very start. No, I tell you: this has been a sign from the gods, my friends. No good will ever come of a man denying himself wine."

He then treated the boys to such a serious, knowing look that Jason and Pythagoras merely nodded with as much sincerity as they could, rolling their eyes when his back was turned. Trust Hercules to find divine provenance to justify his drinking habits.

Then Hercules abruptly clapped his hands together. "Right," he exclaimed. "You go see that friend of yours safely outside the stadium and I'll wait for you both on the Northern Road. Then you go _straight_ home and do _exactly_ as Pythagoras tells you, you hear? I'll expect to see you there, in that bed of yours, when I get back and then we're going to have a conversation that I promise you won't forget."

As Hercules finished speaking, he turned to leave for the Northern Road, expecting Jason to move as well. But Jason only stood, awkwardly looking at him and when Hercules noticed this, he too turned back to face him, a question in his eyes. Jason's mouth hung open for a second as he looked for the right words. He shifted awkwardly. Sensing that Jason needed a private conversation with their older friend, Pythagoras rose and quietly excused himself, moving away to examine the wares of a nearby stall. Jason watched him go with mixed feelings: grateful at the discrete understanding for privacy but wary at being left alone for what was set to be an uncomfortable announcement.

"_Well_?" Hercules demanded. The covert secrecy between the two of them bothered him sometimes, not to mention when he sensed Jason was _not_ going to be compliant. He watched his dark-haired young friend take a deep breath before beginning.

"Hercules, I _will_ rest, of course I will. But I can't go home with you and Pythagoras. I'm sorry – I thought you understood that." Jason winced to see the dark clouds descend over the larger man's face, his shoulders squaring. He took a step closer to Jason, lowering his voice.

"What are you talking about?" he rumbled, dangerously. "You've _done_ your three days with them – you're back with us now and even if you _weren't_…"

But Jason shook his head, willing his friend to understand. "I _can't_," he insisted again. "You don't understand: I left _their_ home – they're worried about me. Or they're angry with me. Either way, I owe it to them to go back and try to explain or at least let them yell at me. I can't just skip out and tell them I'll see them in four days!" He watched his friend's grim expression and sighed once more. "I wouldn't do it to _you_ if the situation was reversed." His older friend merely rolled his eyes, disbelievingly.

The man folded his arms tightly across his chest, half turning from Jason. "So," he muttered, "it's starting already. I suppose we always knew it would." Cautiously, Jason reached out a hand to Hercules' shoulder but no sooner had it made contact, then the wrestler turned away.

"It's fine," he announced, an attempt at nonchalance back in his voice, though Jason still regarded him with worried, regretful eyes. "You've got to do what you think is right." But he levelled a glare at him, jamming a finger to the end of the boy's nose. "But you'd better make sure you rest up and if you think a disapproving eyebrow from the high and mighty Palace is going to be the end of this little escapade, you've got another think coming! We _will_ be having our little chat when I see you again."

And despite his friend's promise of doom, Jason smiled. "Good to know," he grinned. Then, saying goodbye to Pythagoras, who intended to go home and put himself to bed for a good number of blissful hours, Jason bade farewell to Hercules and made his way back through the tunnel, to meet Myrtle.

For a long moment afterwards, Hercules watched him go, lips pressed tightly together and a heavy, sinking feeling in his heart before he, too turned to fulfil his own part of the mission.

* * *

Ok – Now there really is only one chapter more to go and it will be a shorter one – probably more like an epilogue, really. I really hope if you've stuck around for this far on the journey, that you'll stick with me for the last outing! Thanks very much for reading this far.


	15. Chapter 15

The Road Ahead

Standard disclaimer applies – don't own them, never will

Thank you SO much to everyone who has been kind enough to review Chapter 14 and indeed, to everyone who has supported this story throughout. Thank you also to _Angel_ and _jmp_ – don't worry, I haven't forgotten Pythagoras' part in all of this! ;-) It is now time for the story to end! Please enjoy.

Chapter 15

The short rest and the water had actually done wonders for temporarily reviving Jason's stamina. The young man was more than happy to admit that his friends and family had been right: he _did_ need to be in bed, resting. But, he thought to himself a little irritably, that had never really been the issue. He had no problem admitting when he was sick or injured and no problem resting in order to get better – well, not really. It was just unfortunate that he had very pressing matters to attend to that _prevented_ him from resting. However, he thought with a relieved sigh, said matters were now coming to an end and soon he would be able to relax.

As Jason left the tunnel and quietly shut the wooden door behind him, he cast a furtive glance about him to check for the presence of the guards. Along the walkways of one of the stadium walls, he could hear the low rumble of two guards, deep in conversation as they patrolled the perimeter. Jason glanced up at the men. They would walk past at any moment and then continue their route for about another quarter of a mile. This side of the stadium was always less heavily travelled and therefore less heavily guarded than the other. For a while, Jason tracked their movements as they grew smaller and smaller, the scuff of their footsteps fading away and their voices dimming to a distant mute. Then he stepped out into the open, from where he had been standing with his back pressed to the shadows of the wall and quickly darted around the corner of the stadium to where a small grove of olive trees grew.

Though she concealed herself well, Jason still knew exactly what he was looking for, making out the neutral colours of her long cloak, concealing her amongst the shadows and trunks of the trees. "Myrtle," he called, softly.

When she heard her name, the old woman stepped out, her face smiling and a little relieved. She held out her hands to him and he came and squeezed her fingers gently. "There you are," she remarked, lightly. "Is all sorted now?"

Jason nodded, as they began their walk. "When I left, the guards already had several men in custody and I think they rounded up all of the oil." Myrtle nodded in relief.

"I never did thank you for attacking that man in the tunnel – it was very brave of you though I wish you wouldn't put yourself through such troubles." Jason bashfully hung his head:

"I'm just sorry I put you in danger in the first place."

They reached a fork in the road and Jason gently pulled her to the left then immediately ducked them both into a small alcove in a wall, as another set of guards walked by. Jason knew their patrol routes for the Games and kept an eye out for when he would need to get them to cover. Fortunately, the guards did not linger and simply walked by. Jason found himself wondering just how alert these guards _were_ but currently, it was serving him well.

Stepping out again, Myrtle shook her head. "Nonsense. It's been quite an adventure, I admit but I would do it all again in an instant if it meant I got to see my Phillip again." She stopped, a happy, wistful smile spread over her twisted mouth and she placed a hand to Jason's cheek. "Thank you, Jason." Then she laughed at the slight blush on the boy's face and swiftly removed her hand and continued walking, letting his embarrassment die down away from notice.

Quickly shaking off his awkwardness, Jason caught her up. "Just a few more corners to go and we should be on the Northern Road. Hercules will meet you there and take you the rest of the way. We shouldn't come across any more guards here."

She nodded and they finished the last part of the journey in companionable silence. Finally, they rounded the last corner and a wide, dusty path crossed their way, leading out of the city and towards the Northern Gate. From there, the road led into the forest and the way home to Myrtle's colony. On seeing the way clearly and on seeing that it was empty – most of the city still being within the stadium walls – Jason stopped and turned to the woman. He pointed a little way down the road where, waiting by a large rock, Hercules could just be made out.

"Hercules is over there," he said. "I'll say goodbye here." She smiled once more and took the lad in her arms for a quick hug. "Take care," Jason told her.

"And you!" she lightly admonished. "Get yourself to bed." Laughing, Jason nodded.

"I'm sure I will. I'll see you soon." And with one last wave, she was gone, slowly making her way down the road, towards the waiting Hercules.

Jason smiled softly to himself as he watched her go. At least in that respect, he had been successful – Myrtle had managed to watch her son compete and it was clearly a memory she would hold on to and treasure. If nothing else came of this venture, Jason could always be pleased with that. Turning to head back to the stadium, he suddenly yelped in surprise, his heart leaping into his mouth as a long shadow fell across him. Expecting a guard, Jason tensed. But when he looked up at the stranger, his stomach dropped further.

"Pasiphae?" He tried not to let his voice squeak the way it usually did when he was caught out doing something he shouldn't. The queen stepped out from the shade of an oak tree, watching him through hard, narrowed eyes. For a moment, the piercing gaze left Jason where he was, frozen to the spot, and travelled instead to the distant form of Myrtle. Jason followed her gaze and gulped.

"I feel," Pasiphae began, coolly, "that I should not be surprised at anything you choose to do any more. And yet I find myself frequently in such a position."

Jason's eyes widened and he looked imploringly at her. "I can explain," he began, but she threw up a hand to silence him.

"Will this explanation give adequate reasons for why you have broken the laws of Atlantis and brought a _leper_ within our walls?" She arched an eyebrow at him. "_Or_," Pasiphae added, "give me cause enough to not immediately summon the guards and have that woman arrested?" Her eyes narrowed once more and seemed to set themselves ablaze as she rounded on her son. "You _foolish_ boy! Is there any part of you that was _thinking_ when you concocted your scheme? Your friends are not above the laws of the land and neither are you." Though she would fight tooth and nail to protect him and she knew it all too well.

Stepping forward, looking suitably humble and desperate, Jason met her anger with an honest, entreating expression. "I'm sorry," he began. "I really am. But it meant _so_ much to her to come."

Pasiphae scoffed. "I am sure a day's entertainment is appealing to all but that does not justify putting our citizens in danger and flaunting our laws." But Jason shook his head.

"It wasn't that. Her son, Phillip, he was one of the athletes today."

His mother regarded him carefully, so far unimpressed with his explanation. Jason hurriedly pressed on. "She hasn't seen him for years. His father took him away from Atlantis when he was a boy when Myrtle contracted the disease." He gave a quiet, bitter laugh: "I guess he didn't want his son anywhere near her."

The tiniest of reactions flickered briefly across the queen's granite features.

Sighing quietly, Jason continued. "Her son was an athlete. She hasn't seen him in so many years now – she never thought she'd see him again. But she just wanted to watch him compete, one last time. That's all. I know I shouldn't have but it didn't hurt anyone – not really and I promise it won't happen again." He bowed his head a moment – the weariness was creeping up on him once more and again he felt the constriction in his chest. Pasiphae saw him falter and felt her own heart clench. Her son was sick – whatever conversations they must have, they must have them when Jason was safely put to bed and the physician called. And there was that other tiny stirring that Jason's words had provoked in her – the one the queen felt reluctant to admit, even to herself.

Her features began to soften and she stepped forwards, gently resting the back of her hand against his forehead, frowning at the warmth she felt. The queen shook her head in admonishment. "Silly boy," she tutted again. "Straight home and straight to bed." Jason watched with confused yet hopeful eyes as his mother abruptly turned on her heel and held her hand out, indicating that Jason should move ahead of her. Her lips were tightly pressed together, her expression brooked no nonsense. Cautiously, not daring to believe, Jason took a step forward, eyeing his mother suspiciously.

"Are you going to summon the guards to arrest her?" he asked in a quiet voice, still uncertain which way Atlantis' fearsome queen would turn. For a moment, Pasiphae gazed out to the distance where Myrtle had recently disappeared. Her expression seemed sad, introspective…_angry_. Jason held his breath until finally she spoke very softly:

"She is leaving and there is little point in adding any more turmoil to this day." A wash of relief flooded over Jason but he barely had time to let out a shaky breath before Pasiphae took a hold of the sleeve of his tunic and tugged him sharply to follow her. "And _you_ shall delay no longer. The king and I would like words with you when you are no longer on the cusp of unconsciousness – _again_."

"Thank you," Jason murmured, slipping his hand briefly into hers. He felt a tiny squeeze on his fingers. And so, with a small smile which his mother eventually returned, they made their way together, back towards the Palace.

* * *

When the two travellers eventually passed through the Northern Gate, the afternoon sun hung lower in the sky, bathing the sandy path ahead in its golden reds. For a moment, Hercules observed their lengthening shadows and pulled his cloak a little tighter about his shoulders. They would make camp, he had decided, in a small clearing that he knew, a few miles in to the forest. The old woman looked spry enough but travelling through the night was not something he intended to do and he was fairly certain, spry or not, the exertion would be too much for her, too.

Holding out one hand, the wrestler announced: "Well, here we are. After you." He watched as Jason's friend smiled graciously up at him and began to shuffle forwards. She had been quieter than he'd expected as he had escorted her along the road and she seemed just as taciturn now. Maybe she was tired? He thought. Although he did tend to have a dazzling effect on the ladies, it had to be said.

"Thank you," Myrtle said, quietly yet sincerely, passing by him.

A noise up ahead from the tree-line suddenly made them both start. It sounded like cracking twigs and instantly, Hercules had drawn his sword, narrowed his eyes and stepped protectively in front of the old woman. "Who's there?" he called out, sharply. "Show yourself!" Half hidden behind him, one hand lightly resting on the back of his leather jerkin, Hercules could feel Myrtle tense though she maintained her outward composure with considerable measure. Feisty old girl, he thought to himself, as he scanned the gloomy entrance to the forest, eyes alert for movement.

He did not have long to wait, however. Their mysterious guest did not appear to want to remain hidden for much longer. Slowly, hesitantly a tall young figure stepped out from amongst the pine trees. Hercules watched the way the young man took a tentative step forward, as if unsure of his purpose. But his face did not seem hostile. He raised his blonde head and finally, the eyes that had, up till that point, been downcast and nervous, suddenly rose to meet the wrestler's with a determined resolve.

"I am here to take my mother back to her colony."

As Hercules stopped short, his sword still hovering uncertainly in midair, he felt the light hand on his back suddenly grip tightly as a startled gasp escaped his companion. Turning to look at her in confusion, unsure whether her reaction was one of fear or delight, Hercules saw that it was most definitely the latter.

Tears misted her cloudy eyes and spilled down her cheeks as she lowered her hood with trembling fingers, allowing her son to see her in all that she was: deformity and unwavering love. "Phillip," she breathed, a disbelieving smile spreading across her face. "I did not think to see you."

Phillip took stepped forwards until he stood opposite his mother, his own expression one of mixed emotions. He bowed his head and spoke softly. "And I did not expect to be here," he admitted, hardly daring to look once more at the mother he had not seen for half of his life. "But if you'll have me as your companion, I would like to accompany you back to your home?" He hesitated. "And along the way, perhaps we can talk?"

Myrtle's heart thudded painfully in her chest and, though she did not trust her voice to speak, she nodded vigorously and beamed at her son. Then, turning to Hercules, she found enough voice to say:

"Thank you for your help but I shall be fine from here."

The big man eyed the fickle son warily. He certainly doubted the young man before him had either the loyalty or tenacity of one such as Jason. But, for the most part, he appeared humbled and sincere: good starts, he guessed. He was yet to touch his mother, Hercules noted, grimly. Perhaps that was a step yet to take? One thing at a time? However, with a guarded expression, he asked: "Are you sure?" He sheathed his sword once more, even as he harboured his suspicions.

But Myrtle smiled once more and nodded. "I am. Please give Pythagoras and Jason my thanks. And take good care of that boy. I do not expect to see him visiting his father until he is quite well enough to make the journey."

Unsure how much input he still had in Jason's life any more, Hercules nodded his agreement all the same. There was no way in Hades that Jason would be up to making a journey to the Mines of Pangeon for quite some time. "I will," he promised, vehemently. Then she nodded her goodbye to him and turned to her son. The young man did not offer her his arm, though he quietly slipped his mother's travelling bag off her shoulder and slung it over his own.

Hercules watched mother and son disappear into the forest side by side and gave a quiet snort: it was a _start_, he supposed.

* * *

On the second day back in the Palace, still for the most part, tucked up in his bed, Jason was once again deemed well enough for visitors. His back was healing nicely, with only occasional wincing pain as he rolled over and stretched the healing skin, aided in its closure by several stitches. The fever had, mercifully, been over more quickly than the last, though the physician had frowned heavily at how his careful doctoring had been squandered by an impulsive young man. The more Jason rested and slept, he was surprised by how quickly his strength returned and how his occasional moments of shortness of breath, gradually became less and less frequent. The light-headedness still showed itself from time to time, but more often than not, Jason felt far better than he had in a long time.

Mealtimes had been strictly enforced and supervised during his convalescence, until every last mouthful had been consumed. It made Jason feel quite ill and he could not always keep so much food in his stomach. But his bouts of illness did not persuade his mother to allow him to miss the next meal. She merely gave him a cup of water, or a soothing tonic or simply sat and gently rubbed his back until the discomfort passed. But she did not relent.

And now that his mother had announced that he may finally have visitors, Jason was rather hoping for a visit from Ariadne. However, that was not to be. When the knock sounded on his door, just after the midday meal, it was not Ariadne who answered his invite, but Minos.

Jason had been aware of Minos' presence sometimes, especially during the night when he lay in bed and could hear hushed voices outside his door. On more than one occasion, he was certain he could make out the king's voice conversing in low tones, with his mother. But he had never ventured inside – at least, not as far as Jason knew. For most of the days, Minos spent his time at the Games which, Jason heard, were going very well for Atlantis: five crowns so far and the discus event was rumoured to be a close match between Tyrin from Atlantis, and a deceptively portly-looking man from Thebes. From the various descriptions of him, he reminded Jason of Hercules and, despite clearly wanting Atlantis to win the event, Jason couldn't help but secretly root for the Theban. There were only two days left of events and Jason began to wonder if he was going to be allowed to attend them.

When Minos entered and shut the door behind him, glad though Jason was to see him, a tiny part of his stomach tied itself into knots. For the most part, Pasiphae had treated him to merely stern looks and the odd reprimand when Jason proved difficult in his recovery. The promise of the fallout from his little adventure, she had assured him would come when he was well enough. With Minos' arrival, Jason held his breath, wondering if this heralded the start of his recovery and the start of his Fate. But when the king pulled up the chair by his table and seated himself on it, looking pointedly at Jason as he scrambled quickly to sit up in bed, the older man's expression immediately relaxed into a benign smile.

"I hear you are feeling better?" Minos asked.

Hesitatingly, Jason nodded. "Yes thank you, Your Majesty." It felt distinctly uncomfortable, addressing the king while he was sitting up in bed – disrespectful even – but when Jason briefly considered the alternatives: getting up, wearing only his nightshirt or asking the king to leave and come back later, he quickly decided that his current situation was the best option. Minos regarded him carefully.

"I thought you would like to know that the remaining perpetrators of this plot have been captured. They await only trial and sentencing." Jason didn't like to voice the thought that it didn't sound as though it was likely to be a fair trial. And he could only imagine _one_ sentence: he almost pitied the men.

"Do we know why they did it?"

The king's expression soured. "They need little excuse to rein terror on our innocent citizens. However, with so many members of Greece's royal families attending in one place, I imagine the opportunity was too good to pass up." He stopped and his expression changed to one of pride. "You did well Jason – very well. Your mother and I, we are so proud of you for the part you played in foiling this plot and protecting our people."

A blush immediately rose to Jason's cheeks as he glanced down at his bedcover. Praise from the king was still a relatively new experience but in this case, it was more than that. "Thank you," he mumbled. "But you know, it wasn't really me who did it. Pythagoras was the one who over-heard the plot and Hercules was the one who rallied everyone into action and who figured out it was the merchant's barrels."

Shyly, he glanced up to his stepfather, relieved to see the man reluctantly nodding. "Ah, I suppose you are right," Minos admitted. "Though," he added pointedly, "it was also your friend Hercules who sat and _guarded_ those blessed barrels in the first place!" Despite Minos' frown, Jason risked a small smile and on seeing this, the king eventually relented with a sigh. "But I will admit that Atlantis owes them a debt. I shall see that a suitable reward is sent to your friend's house."

Jason grinned. "He likes wine. And pies. And Pythagoras would _love_ some parchment."

Minos raised an eyebrow at the rather odd company Jason kept. "We shall have to see what can be done." And then the king was back to scrutinising Jason once more. Seeing this, Jason started to squirm again. Being under so much attention was making him feel very nervous, particularly when he couldn't make a quick exit. "I feel, as I hope you do, that your involvement in these Games was a success." Jason tried not to shrug, knowing how Minos hated the non-committal gesture. But admitting to anyone that he thought he had done well struck him as quite abhorrent. To claim he had done well, meant opening himself up for others to dispute it and try to prove the opposite. So instead, he mumbled his thanks quietly, yet sincerely.

Minos almost rolled his eyes at the boy's reluctance to take his place in the sun. They would have to see to that matter, before too long. But all in good time. "You have a good understanding of what the people of Atlantis need and want. I may call on your advice in the future, if it touches on such matters. Local petitions and grievances in the courts, for instance." He watched Jason's eyes widen and a painful, polite smile grace the boy's face. Resisting a smile of his own at Jason's expense, Minos patted his leg and let the matter drop.

"Now then," he announced, suddenly.

Jason tensed. That sounded like a distinct shift in topics. Had Pasiphae mentioned anything about Myrtle? She hadn't said that she would, but then again she hadn't said that she wouldn't, either. Whatever came of it, Jason knew he would take the blame on his shoulders if need be. It had, after all, been _his_ idea and his alone. Minos narrowed his eyes at him and Jason couldn't help but stare, wide-eyed at the man, shifting nervously.

"I could see from your expression when I first entered the room that you were expecting a far less _pleasant_ conversation? Am I right?"

His heart in his mouth, Jason meekly nodded, refusing to mention Myrtle unless directly challenged. "Yes, Sire," he admitted. "I'm sorry I didn't listen to you about staying in bed and resting."

Minos arched an eyebrow. "_Didn't listen to me_? Do you mean, _disobeyed me_?" Jason felt his face burning but he lowered his eyes and nodded all the same. That appeared to mollify Minos a little who nodded in agreement. "Hmm," the king remarked. "Indeed. But your disappearance on the morning of the Games is something I shall leave to your mother to deal with." He almost smirked as he saw the tiny wince that crossed Jason's face. "I wish to make plain to you that when you have retired for the night, you are to remain _inside_ these Palace walls until morning." He tucked a finger under Jason's chin to force his stepson to look directly at him. "I do not like my family roaming abroad at night when any and all might harm them."

It did at least appear that Pasiphae had not betrayed his secret and for that, Jason felt immensely grateful. However, when he considered Minos' over-protective nature, Jason very nearly rolled his eyes. He had been _roaming abroad at night_ fairly regularly since he was about _fifteen_. He hardly saw the habit stopping now. Minos, however, still spoke with the weight of authority and the promise of menace in his voice and so Jason withheld his immediate response and nodded, as convincingly as he could. "Yes, Sire."

Perhaps Minos sensed his insincerity because rather than letting the matter go, he leant in a little closer to Jason's personal space and when he spoke, his voice still held its edge of iron: "The time will come, Jason, when our enemies realise who you are. I pray that this time will be far off yet but _when_ it comes, you must not assume that you can slip through the streets with the same anonymity that you do now and I _shall not_ see harm come to you."

As Minos' words started to sink in, Jason felt his chest tighten and his stomach twist. It was not the danger that disturbed him but more the feeling of dread – that one day, he would have to choose. One day, it would become impossible to remain just Jason, living both his life in the city while he also lived his life with his family. Sooner or later, his worlds would collide and force him down one path or another. To stay with his mother and stepfather, to make a future with Ariadne, would mean to accept the responsibilities of the Palace and the crown. But if his identity were discovered by the people, then remaining in Atlantis itself would be all but impossible: it would mean moving on, moving away – starting again somewhere new where none knew his name. Would Hercules and Pythagoras come with him in such an eventuality? Was it even something he had any right to ask of them?

Sensing his stepson's troubled thoughts, Minos smiled sadly, confident the lad had eventually seen his point. "That day is far from us yet, Jason," he said, reassuringly. "But let us not tempt the Fate of the Gods, hmm?"

Then, giving the young man's arm a gentle squeeze, Minos stood. "You are looking a little tired, Jason. Perhaps I have stayed too long? Lie back and rest for a little while." Dumbly, Jason nodded, shifting back into a flat position almost automatically.

He tried not to let the king's words invade his thoughts, and instead turned his mind to finally being free of his bed and his room, now that his strength was returning. Those thoughts of escape actually did help to banish Minos' prediction to a distant part of his mind, and Jason smiled, sleepily as he felt himself melt into the covers around him. He really hadn't realised how tired he had become. Even keeping his eyes open long enough to see Minos out of the room, was proving to be tricky.

But Minos simply smiled, watching sleep catch the boy unaware. "Sleep well, Jason," he said quietly, stepping back towards the door. From beneath heavy lids that Jason resolutely forced to keep open, he watched his stepfather quietly shut the door behind him.

"Night," Jason murmured into his pillow, as the door clicked shut.

* * *

The wind was starting to pick up as Jason walked the garden paths, sending a chill right through him. He shivered, immediately gathering the neck of his cloak up and wrapping himself more tightly in its warm folds. Now that he had finally been allowed out of the Palace itself and into its grounds, the provision that he always carry a cloak with him had been strictly enforced. Not that Jason minded it: he had never liked being cold, particularly and if there was a simple way to avoid it, he was happy to take it. Pasiphae's conversation had not, in the end, been as bad as Jason had been expecting. It appeared that she felt his sickness and his brave acts went a fair way to acquitting his misdemeanours. Some meaningful words and a few extra days confined to the Palace – which was hardly surprising to Jason, given his need for recuperation – had been the sum total of Pasiphae's ire, though he never _had_ got to see the ending of the Games.

Her lecture had been sharp, but to the point. More than the lambasting though, it had been the honest sense of worry and grief that Jason realised he had inadvertently caused his mother, that had affected him the most. He was sure such times would rise again in the future: with his sort of luck and being friends with Hercules and Pythagoras, it was an inevitability. But, Jason resolved, he would not do so again with such casual disregard for the worry he might cause others. That these people would worry about him at _all_ was still something of a mystery to the young man.

A bird screeched above him and Jason instinctively glanced up at the darkening sky. The seasons had definitely turned their corner. Jason frowned: travelling under these increasingly bitter conditions was not something he was looking forward to though he had missed his most recent visit with his father and he looked forward to the time when he could see him again. Heavy clouds, almost ready to burst, converged above the gardens. Jason shivered, involuntarily, glancing up with nervous eyes. If he got caught in a downpour and returned to the Palace soaked to the skin, the young man was fairly certain he would be immediately bundled off to bed by the first person who caught him, even _if_ a simple change of clothes would have sufficed.

Reluctantly – Jason still preferring the fresh air while he could get it – the young man began to slowly trudge back to the courtyard that would lead him into the Palace. He walked, quite lost in his own thoughts and so it was with a sudden jolt of surprise that he registered someone walking alongside him. However, he recognised the scent of his mother's perfume before he turned to see her smiling at him.

"I was walking through the orchard when I spotted you and I was about to come and tell you to get inside before the rain struck. However, it appears you have had a burgeoning wave of common sense."

Jason rolled his eyes, no longer so surprised to hear his mother tease him. "Don't worry – I'm sure it won't last."

Pasiphae breathed a short, soft laugh, glancing down at the path she took. "Are your homelands cold and wet?"

Jason laughed. "Most of the time! We get about a _week_ of Summer when everyone rushes to their gardens for as much sun as they can soak up in-between the showers." For a moment, Pasiphae tried to imagine living in such an uninviting climate and quickly surmised that she wouldn't want to. Beside her, Jason continued: "A friend and I tried building a shelter in the rain once, down at the local park. We had a great time but we must have been out there for over an hour." Jason grinned at the memory. "His mum and dad just about had a fit when he came home – I think he was sick for about a week."

"_Mum and dad_?" Pasiphae questioned, her voice lightly curious. Jason simply treated her to one of those looks he had when he assumed she should automatically know the meanings of these strange words he often used.

"It's what you call your mother and father where I grew up," he clarified, with exaggerated patience.

A small smile settled over the queen's face. "Ah," she remarked softly. "I see. Does no-one simply call them 'mother' and 'father'?" She watched Jason give a casual shrug:

"If you're old," he replied. "Or you don't like them." They reached the courtyard just as the first fat drops splashed onto the tiled floor and quickly, they darted the rest of the way inside.

Jason grinned as he listened to the steady drumming on the roof and watched the vertical streams of water, lashing down in straight lines outside the windows. He may not enjoy _being_ in the rain, but _listening_ to it had always been relaxing.

"I suppose," his mother said, with a sigh, "that you shall be wanting to see your friends, now that you are well enough?" Jason turned to her with hesitant, hopeful eyes. He had gone through his entire three days with his friends _and_ his day with his father, recuperating at the Palace. Now, technically, it was time for his three days here to begin again. Hoping he might be allowed to go back to the city, was not something he had dared for. But Pasiphae shook her head with a mixture of fondness and exasperation. "You shall only start climbing the walls here if you remain much longer. However," she added, "King Pinytus and his family return to Crete tomorrow and Minos and I would like you to attend their farewell feast." She didn't add that he had missed the _welcoming_ one so this really was the least he could do. "But after this, you are welcome to return to your friends." Pasiphae watched, with a rueful smile, as her son's face lit up. It would do him good to see his friends again – she could reluctantly admit it. The wind picked up, hurtling the rain even harder against the building and both she and Jason immediately moved deeper into the Palace to avoid the splash from the windows. The queen only _wished_ she could persuade Jason not to travel that long distance to see Aeson but no doubt the boy would be insistent on seeing his father again.

Jason grinned at the news. Even the prospect of attending a formal meal could not dampen his spirits. Eagerly, he nodded, leaning in to kiss his mother on the cheek. "Thanks." Already Jason's mind filled with the conversations he had been longing to have with his friends for the last week – even Hercules' promised lecture didn't put him off though he was quite certain that its intensity would not have lessened over time. With any luck, this farewell meal would be at midday so that the Royal family could sail in the evening. Jason smiled once more at the thought of being able to surprise his friends. He would stop off in the agora on the way back – pick up some food and drink. But as he turned to bid farewell to his mother, ready to start packing and to seek out the company of Ariadne, he paused, watching the way she looked at him with a sad fondness. He felt a peculiar _uncertainty_ stir inside him.

"Pasiphae? There _is_ a gymnasium somewhere on the Palace grounds, isn't there? I remember hearing someone talking about it."

Immediately, his mother's fond expression hardened into stone. "Yes," she replied, the bark back to her voice: "but don't you _dare_ go near it yet! You are in _no_ condition." A dark look, promising dire consequences flashed across the queen's eyes as she prepared to commence battle with her headstrong son, if need be. But Jason just laughed softly and shook his head.

"I didn't mean _now_. In a week or so…" He carefully watched her hard, raised eyebrow and ventured another guess. "In a _few_ weeks?" The face softened a fraction and so, encouraged, Jason carried on. "Well…" he glanced down at his feet, hesitant and embarrassed, his face starting to burn. Curiously, Pasiphae waited. "Well, I know it's not the same as competing in the Games, but if you wanted," he mumbled, still not making eye-contact, "I could…you know…_fly_…for you." By the time Jason had finished, he was willing the ground to open and swallow him up. "But you don't have to," he hastily tacked on. "Stupid really. Forget I said anything. I'll just go…_do something_. Somewhere else."

But as he turned to go, a firm yet gentle hand grasped his arm. "Assuming _I _have some say in this matter?" Her amused voice let Jason know not to fear the worst. But nor did it put him at ease. Hesitantly, his cheeks still burning, he nodded. "Good. Then I shall look forward to it." She placed a warm hand on his cheek, relieved to eventually feel him smile. Still too embarrassed to reply, but very glad his mother had not scorned his offer, Jason nodded again. "Now, you had better go and do this very important thing that you must do."

And Jason chuckled, ducking his head. "Thanks. See you later."

He took a measured step backwards, preparing to leave and the queen nodded to him as he turned away. She watched him walk briskly back down the corridor and smothered her smile – he so clearly wanted to break into a run but after so many reminders, he was finally curbing that impulse. Now that Jason was safely out of sight and she was alone, Pasiphae allowed the sharp prick of tears into her eyes. Yes, he had indeed come a long way. But the time would come when Jason, despite all her hopes and dreams for him, would have to choose his own path. With a tight clench in her heart, Pasiphae only prayed that this path would not divide them.

THE END

That's it! I hope people have enjoyed the ride. Thanks so much to everyone who encouraged this story – I hope it hasn't disappointed. If anyone is interested in seeing the next step of the journey, then I'd love to continue it.


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